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THE WATSON GIRLS 


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BY 


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MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN 

Author of “ Jasper Thorn,” “ Jack Chumleigh.” “ The Legend 
of Lancianus,” “The Chatelaine of the Roses,” 

“ In a Brazilian Forest,” Etc. 


Second Edition 



PHILADELPHIA 

H. L. KILNER & CO. 

PUBLISHERS 

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L.Jbtr«ir'V of Con^«*e*5a 

Wu CoPttS (kCEtV^D 

FEB 11 1901 

y y Copyrigft^ <iitry 

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SECOND COPY 






Copyright, 1900, by H. L. Kilner & Co, 


TO 

Carmel Bsatt. 











AN APOLOGY. 


This book had to be written because a great 
many children, — one a Sister of Charity who 
avows that she is eighty years of age, — said that 
“ Mr. Egan must write a book for girls.” The 
young persons who promised to assist him with 
counsel, withdrew early because he did not take 
their advice ; so he wrote the story all by him- 
self. 

If you like Am6lie and the others, he promises 
that you shall hear more about them. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Water-lilies 9 

II. The Helpless Mother 14 

III. Susan’s Gifts 19 

IV. A Glimpse of the World 24 

V. The Horseless Carriage 30 

VI. She is Received 36 

VH. The Bitter Words 40 

VHI. Amelie’s Plan 48 

IX. The Salad 53 

X. “Showing Off” 60 

XI. An Interview 57 

XH. The Note 72 

XHI. The Note is Read 81 

XIV. Amelie’s Trouble 85 

XV. The Boy of the Water-lilies Again 79 

XVI. On the Terrace 94 

XVH. Belinda 99 

XVHI. Rather Violent^ 106 

XIX. Amelie’s Temper 112 

XX. Some Music 117 

XXI. On the Potomac 125 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. The Whistle 133 

XXIII. The Rescue 138 

XXIV. The Man with the Sword 146 

XXV. The Market 157 

XXVI. Miss Favesham 166 

XXVII. A Conversation 175 

XXVIII. Mr. Watson 183 

XXIX. Noel 193 


THE WATSON GIRLS 


I. 

THE WATER-LILIEb. 

“I HATE music,” Alice Watson said, “and I 
think I hate the ‘ Melodie in F ’ more than any- 
thing else. It’s practise this and practise that 
until I wish pianos had never been invented. 
And what’s the use ? Nobody listens when you 
play. They just talk.” 

The dining-room was darkened, for it was a hot 
morning in August, and, though a breeze blew 
occasionally over the Capitol grounds, yet it was 
not a breeze that refreshed the young girl at the 
piano. The long drawing-room, rose-scented by 
the flowers in the tall vase on the mahogany table, 

was cooler than any other place, but Alice felt that 

9 


10 


THE WATSON GIRLS; 


it was unbearable, because vacation had come and 
almost gone ; and she had to practise. 

Clara, who was stringing tlie mandolin, said 
nothing; she sighed. These Watsons were girls 
of fourteen and fifteen. Clara was the younger, 
but quite as tall as her sister ; she was blonde in 
complexion, with large blue eyes, and a great deal 
of hair, which she arranged after the Pompadour 
fashion Avhen her mother’s attention could be. dis- 
tracted. Alice was darker, slighter, more grace- 
ful, and not given as yet to much thought about 
her appearance. This morning Clara wore a pink 
shirt-waist with an immense bow of ribbon of the 
same tint fastened to the top of her head by a large 
imitation-turquoise pin. 

Oh, Clara,” Alice said, as her sister rose to 
get a missing sheet of the hated “ Melodie,” 
“ you’ve no string in your left shoe ! ” 

It broke,” said Clara. “ Nobody will see.” 

Alice shook her head disapprovingly ; she was 
the very flower of neatness ; she went on stringing 
the mandolin. 

“Everybody is out of town except us,” she said 
when Clara paused in her music. “ I don’t see 
why we should be kept here. If papa can’t afford 


THE WATER-LILIES. 


11 


to send us away and educate us, too, he might 
drop something off our education. I certainly 
would give up music and French with pleasure. 
Every house in the row, except the boarding-houses, 
is closed.’’ 

“ Oh, dear me ! I wish I could make my left hand 
as strong as my right ! If a girl has to play the 
piano, she ought to be born with two right hands ! 
You see father says that Bob’s education costs a lot. 
But now that Arthur’s at West Point, I do hope 
he’ll give us more things. Let’s try the ‘ Lorelei ’ 
together. Take the first part with the man- 
dolin.” 

‘‘We may as well. Mamma said that we must 
stick at it until she came from market. Ever 
since Cousin Amelie sent the music they’re crazy 
about the ‘ Lorelei.’ If there is anytliing I hate, 
it’s a Saturday in the vacation ! ” 

The girls began the “ Lorelei.” Its sweetness 
penetrated through the closed shutters into the 
street. Suddenly Alice paused. 

“ There is somebody singing ! ” 

A sweet, high treble had taken up the strain 

“ Ich weis nicht, was soli es bedeuten 
, Das ich so traurigbin.” 


12 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


The girls ran to the window and peered into 
the sunlit street. 

Opposite on the pavement in front of the Capitol 
grounds, was a boy, dressed in a blue blouse, with 
a tight black cap on his head. He seemed to be 
about fourteen years of age. He stood facing 
their house, singing with all his might. He held 
in the hollow of his arm a great sheaf of water- 
lilies. 

“ Listen ! He is singing the words of the 
‘ Lorelei ’ in German.” 

“ Dear me ! How foolish ! ” said Clara. “ I don’t 
see why he does not sing in English. It’s much 
easier.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he is German.” 

“ He looks so. He has rosy cheeks. All Ger- 
man children have rosy cheeks.” 

‘‘ How do you know? ” 

“ It’s just my idea, — I think that I am as much 
entitled to my ideas as anybody else.” 

‘‘ But who told you so ? ” persisted Alice. “ He 
has stopped singing. I’d give him five cents, if I 
had it, but the ice-cream soda last night took 
everything I had.” 

“ Let’s play the ‘ Lorelei ’ over again,” said Clara. 


THE WATER-LILIES. . 


13 


‘‘ It’s SO funny to think of anybody listening to 
our music.” 

The girls went back to the piano, and again 
the voice of the boy in the street rose in unison. 

“There!” Clara said. “We’ve actually kept 
time ! I think even Miss Witherspoon would be 
satisfied.” 

There was a ring at the door when the girls 
ceased playing. 

“ The postman,” Alice said. 

“No, he rings twice. It’s too soon for him.” 

The maid entered with a bunch of water-lilies. 

“ A little boy left them. I could not make out 
what he said.” 

“ How funny I ” cried Clara. “ Aren’t they 
beauties ? It was the boy that sang.” 

“We can’t thank him,” said Alice, who had 
gone to the window, “ he is not there.” 


14 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


II. 

THE HELPLESS MOTHER. 

The water-lilies were carefully looked after. 
The girls were amused. It was like being musicians 
on the stage to have flowers sent after a perform- 
ance. How Bob would laugh, — or perhaps he 
would want to punch the head of the German lad. 
You could never tell what a boy would do ! 

Alice and Clara forgot their grievances in chat- 
ting over the incident. Bob, who was nearly 
seventeen years of age, had gone down to Mount 
Vernon with a party of friends. No doubt he would 
come back full of adventures ; but nothing that 
could happen to him would be so strange and so 
true, — the girls suspected that Bob sometimes 
‘‘ made up ” things, — as this incident of the Ger- 
man boy. 

‘‘ He sang the tune as if he liked it,” Clara said, 
it must mean something to him. It is awfully 
pretty when you come to think of it.” 


THE HELPLESS MOTHER. 


15 


“ Mamma doesn’t like us to say ‘ awfully,’ ” 
Alice interrupted. 

“ Oh, dear,” Clara said, ‘‘ mamma is so particu- 
lar. American girls all say ‘ awfully.’ ” 

“It’s English slang. Miss Witherspoon said.” 

“ I don’t care. American girls can’t be ‘ old 
timey ’ like foreigners. Mamma ought not to 
expect us to be so old-fashioned. 

“ Oh, Clara, you’re finding fault with mother.” 

“I don’t mean to, but there’s Bob, — he goes out 
with boys, and here we are sitting moping over 
our music. They don’t bother him with music. 
He talks slang. Just because I’m a girl, I’ve got 
to stay at home when I want to go out.” 

“ If,” said Alice, solemnly, “you find fault with 
mother, you’ll have to tell it when you go to confes- 
sion ; it’s disrespect to parents. There’s mamma 
now, — she’s opening the door.” 

A. soft voice was heard outside giving orders to 
Joe, the negro boy, as to the disposition of the 
market-basket. 

“You’ll not tell ! ” exclaimed Clara. 

“ I never tell,” said Alice. “ I know a secret of 
Bob’s now, but I wouldn’t tell for the world.” 

“ Oh, do tell me ! ” cried Clara. “ Only me I ” 


16 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


No,” answered Alice, with dignity. “ If I told 
one secret. I’d be suspected of telling another. 
And Bob’s is to be a great surprise.” 

Mrs. Watson came into the drawing-room, look- 
ing somewhat tired and heated. 

“ Soon, my dears,” she said, taking off her bon- 
net, “ I trust that you may go to market for me. 
It’s a very tiresome business.” 

“ I’d rather go to market than practise.”. 

‘‘You, Clara, would rather do anything than 
what it happens to be your duty to do. Where 
did you get the water-lilies ? There was not one 
in market. All that I could get was a bunch of 
red carnations.” 

Clara began the story at once. 

“I can’t make head or tail of it,” said her 
mother. “ The mandolin — the window shutters — 
the * Lorelei ’ — Germans have rosy cheeks. Do 
disentangle her, Alice. How did you get those 
beautiful water-lilies ? And what - have rosy 
cheeks to do with it? You talk,— Clara is* so 
breathless.” * 

Alice told the story as directly as possible. 

“ Poor little fellow ! ” said Mrs. Watson. “ He 
must have been homesick. The ‘ Lorelei ’ is a very 


THE HELPLESS MOTHER. 17 

favorite song in Germany. I wish you could 
have found out whether he was hungry or not.” 

“He went off too soon,” said Alice. 

“ What does the ‘ Lorelei ’ mean, mother. I 
never thought the music had any meaning.” 

“ My dear, how can you say such a foolish 
thing ? I’ll read the ‘ Lorelei ’ for you sometime, — 
There’s a pretty translation in Bishop Spalding’s 
book of German songs. Oh, I forgot to tell you, — 
Your cousin, Amalie, is coming on Monday.” 

“Cousin Amalie, the Virginian cousin ? ” 

“ Oh, lovely ! ” said Alice. 

Clara pouted. “ She’ll be a nuisance in this hot 
weather. She must be poor and stupid — and I hate 
poor relations.” 

Mrs. Watson looked as if she were much pained. 

“ Clara, I do not like such worldly talk. It is 
most unkind. Amalie is an orphan, your brother’s 
niece. Oh, Clara ! you forget that we are not 
rich, and our dear Lord was the poorest of the 
poor. I am sure she is nice and not stupid, though 
I have never seen her.” 

Clara’s cheeks flushed. “ I don’t see why we 
can’t have rich relatives, like other people. 

When Irene Goddard came to visit Myra Smith, 
2 


18 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


she brought her the most beautiful lilac silk 
waist, with exquisite tucks and lace. I fancy 
Cousin Amelie will not bring us anything. 
‘Amalie,’ what a queer name ! ” 

“Her godmother was a Frenchwoman,” Mrs. 
Watson said, with a touch of impatience. “Is it 
not better to give than to receive ? Is it the part 
of gentlewomen to think as you do? I am 
shocked ! ” 

Alice kissed her mother’s flushed forehead. 

“ Don’t mind Clara. Of course, mamma, it 
would be nice if we had some rich relative who 
would take us out to drive and give us things.” 

Mrs. Watson sighed. She looked at the two 
girls helplessly. “ I do wish that some power 
would change them ; I cannot,” she said to herself. 


SUSAN’S GIFTS. 


19 


III. 

SUSAN’S GIFTS. 

Amelie Watson, at the very time her cousins 
were talking about her, was standing at Robuck 
Junction waiting for the train. Her old “ mammy ” 
Susan lived at the Junction, and Amalie had gone 
out of her way to say good-by. She might have 
gone directly to Washington by the Baltimore 
and Ohio railway, but she preferred to lose three 
hours rather than not say good-by to Susan. 
Susan, very black and wrinkled, with a red and 
yellow handkerchief tied over her head and a dark 
shawl on her shoulders, though the weather was 
very warm, stood, holding Amalie’s hand tight. 

“ You always was a good chile,” she said, ‘‘ and 
a pretty chile, though I never done tell you so 
when you was young, but now that you’re a young 
lady. Miss Em’ly, it’s a good thing to know — in 
moderation.” 

‘‘No, Susan,” said Amalie, decidedly, “I never 


20 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


was pretty. Of course, you thought so, and papa 
thought so, but that’s because you love me.” 

Susan shook her head, and looked at the faint 
color coming and going in Amalie’s cheeks. 

“ You’se just like that brier-rose by the fence, 
chile.” 

“ You mean that I have lots of thorns, Susan,” 
said Amalie, with a laugh. “ I know I have. 
Father Fi'ederick, who understands people, says 
that I’d lose my temper at the last moment just 
because St. Peter wouldn’t open the door of 
Heaven quick enough.” 

“Well,” said Susan, complacently, “he’d un- 
derstand that, — he’d know you weren’t poor white 
trash, just used to waitin’ on themselves, — that’s 
what he’d know.” 

“ Susan dear,” Amalie said, “ it’s nice to be 
spoiled, even when I know I don’t deserve it. I 
wish I knew my faults as well as you don’t know 
them. I wish somebody would point tliem out as 
Father Frederick did, without hurting me. I 
want to know my faults, but I don’t want people 
to hurt me when they tell me of them. Oh, how 
I wish papa! — of course I love mother just as 
well, but she died so long ago, — she seems further 


SUSAN’S GIFTS. 


21 


away, — but father, oh, father ! Only the other 
day ” 

Ainelie leaned her head upon Susan’s shoulder 
and cried. There was nobody to see her, except 
some white butterflies floating above the purple- 
tipped vines that clustered around the rough plat- 
form which served as a station. 

“Dear lamb! Dear lamb!” Susan said. “I 
wish your old mammy could go with you. Not 
that I like Washington. It’s too full of the edu- 
cated niggers for me. The singin’ in St. Augus- 
tine’s mighty fine, — I was there two years ago to 
visit my kin, — but to see ’em a-bowin’ and a- 
scrapin’ and a-mongerin’ just like white folks was 
too much for me.” 

“ What is a-mongerin’ ? ” asked Amalie, the tears 
still in her eyes ; the shrewd old nurse had made 
this diversion purposely. 

“ Just a-mongerin’, — that’s all,” responded 
Susan tartly, “ when I say a-mongerin’, I mean 
a-mongerin’, that’s all.” 

There was silence. Amalie was still in awe of 
her nurse. 

“ It may do very well for Baptists and Metho- 
dists to take on that way, but I don’t hold with 


22 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


tliat sort. I’se a Roman Catholic, — thanks be to 
God ! — and I believe in keeping the Command- 
ments and doing your work regular. If you howl 
yourself sick at ’sperience meetings and slight the 
cooking you’re not goin’ to walk in them golden 
slippers, — that’s all. Now, Miss Em’ly,” Susan 
broke off, seeing that the tears had disappeared. 
You keep that cage with the white mice — what 
Adolphus gave you, — in your left hand, when the 
train comes, and the bunch of roses and ’sparagras 
vine, — what Cecelia Veronica give you, — next to 
it in the same hand. Then your right hand 
will be free for the jar of yellow tomatoes, pre- 
served in ginger, — what Martha Mary gave you, — 
and for the little picture of Abraham Lincoln, — 
what Aloysia Amelia drawed for you. Your 
trunk is all right, but I will tote your bag and 
the watermelon, with Adolphus’ name on it, and 
put them in the seat beside you. I hear the 
train ! ” 

Susan put her ear to the ground. 

Yes, it’s cornin’. Now, Miss Em’ly, you just 
keep yo’ head high. Don’t you let anybody 
moosle you, — you ain’t old Judge Gray’s grand- 
daughter for nothin’/!^ What’s them Watsons, I’d 


SUSAN'S GIFTS. 


23 


like to know. Just because they’re livin’ in a 
three-story house, they think they’re gregarious. 
If you want ’em taken down any time you just 
send for me ! And, thanks to your father, there’s 
a cabin over there, where your old mammy can take 
care of you, if you’re sick or have any misery ! ” 

The train came in sight. 

When it stopped, the conductor, who knew 
Susan of old, — she sold fried chicken and coffee to 
the passengers on the midday train, — gallantly 
helped Amelie into the car with her gifts. 

Susan’s smile showed all her teeth as the train 
started. She took out another bandanna handker- 
chief and waved it until the train was out of sight. 
And then she threw herself among the purple- 
tipped weeds and wept aloud. 

‘‘ Oh, my baby ! my baby ! ” she cried. 

But nobody saw her except the fluttering white 
butterflies. 

“ Oh, my dear baby ! out in the cold, cold 
world ! ” 


24 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


IV. 


A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD. 

Amelie did not notice the amused glances of the 
people around her. The white mice would have 
been sufficient to attract attention without the in- 
itialed watermelon and the large picture of Abraham 
Lincoln, the big, tightly compressed bouquet of pink 
monthly roses, with their trailing fringe of aspara- 
gus vine and the tall stone jar of yellow tomatoes. 

In fact, she kept her eyelids almost closed to 
keep back the tears. Everything had changed 
so suddenly ! Her motlier’s death had occurred 
so long ago that Amalie scarcely remembered it. 
Then her godmother, Madame de Guerin, had 
taken her to New Orleans ; but every summer she 
came back to her father. Madame de Guerin 
had died in 1897, and she lived with the motherly 
Sisters, in their Convent. Her father — young 
Mars’ Watson, as Susan would have called him, — 
came to see her there during the session of the 


A GLIMPSE OP THE WORLD. 


25 


winter school. He did not look like himself. 
She went back to Richmond with him. Then 
followed happy days. Was there anybody like 
her father? With her eyes closed, she recalled 
the past, — so recently the present. But God had 
taken liim. Susan, her nurse, had gone to Robuck 
to take care of her own numerous family when 
Amalie went to New Orleans, so the girl, — she was 
only sixteen, — had been housekeeper, advised and 
directed by Susan’s niece, Dinah. 

When her father died, she had been away, sent 
off by him to visit a school friend in Charlestown. 
This made it all the harder; — but Father Fred- 
erick said that his last words had been a prayer for 
her, and this was the greatest of her consolations. 

She was awakened from her reverie by the porter. 

“ One dollar. Miss — parlor car seat.” 

Amalie had, as was usual when her father was 
alive, entered the parlor car. She had determined 
to be very frugal, for she knew that she could have 
but little money now. She looked helplessly at 
the jar, the cage of white mice, the bouquet, the 
picture and her bag. How could she ever carry 
them all to another car? She meekly paid the 
dollar, and looked about her. In the seat in front 


26 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


of liers was a young woman, dressed in soft pink 
lawn and wearing a Leghorn hat, laden with pink 
roses. She had put down her novel for a moment, 
and slie was looking at Amalie with amusement in 
her bright eyes. Amalie saw it and smiled. She 
was not embarrassed by the gifts strewn about her. 
The young woman evidently expected that she 
would be, for she turned away slightly and half- 
murmured, “ Excuse me ! ’’ 

Further down in the car there was a tired-look- 
ing woman, witli three children. Beyond them 
sat three men playing cards. They had laughed 
immoderately when Amalie and her belongings 
had been handed in. And, just beyond them, a 
youth, with a large seal ring, a gold-headed cane, 
and a golf suit ; he had not yet recovered from his 
amusement. But of this, Amalie was unconscious. 
Susan and lier children had been kind in their own 
way. That was enough for her. Other persons 
might think as they chose. Of course, she could 
not keep all these gifts, but they should never 
know that she did not value them. 

Amalie was dressed in a neat, dark-blue gown, 
with a little bolero jacket and a light-blue 
silk waist. Her hat was of dark-blue straw, with 


A GLIMPSE OP THE WORLD. 27 

cornflowers and bows of white ribbon. Amelie 
was i*ather pale, but her skin was clear, and her 
brown hair was carefully parted over a rather high 
forehead. She was graceful because she was un- 
conscious, and she looked what she was, a nice 
simple, direct sort of a girl. Her bag, neatly 
buckled with straps of Russia leather, caused the 
young woman with the Leghorn hat to speak to her. 
That young woman had a theory that people could 
be judged by their traveling bags. Amalie’s was 
of Russian leather, presented by Madame de 
Guerin, who also had a theory that all traveling 
apparatus should be in good form. 

You have a very pretty bag,” said the young 
lady, noticing the initials E. M. G.” on the silver 
plate. 

‘‘ Yes, I like it very much.” 

“ Are those your initials ? ” 

‘‘ Tliey are my godmother’s. She lived in Paris 
a great deal. This is a little French bag.” 

“Yes, — I see. You have been abroa' 

“ Once, with my father.” 

‘‘ I suppose you are going to Washington?” 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Am^;lie, brightening. 

‘‘ She must be somebody,” the young lady 


28 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


thought. “ But I don’t know, — she is traveling 
alone. Whom do you know in Washington?” 
she said. 

“ Oh, nobody, except my cousins — the Watsons.” 

“ Senator Watson ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! ” Amalie smiled. “ Mr. Watson 
is not even a judge.” 

The fashionable young lady resumed her novel. 
Amelie was evidently nobody.” 

After a while the young man in the golf suit 
strutted leisurely toward Amelie. At this moment 
she was wishing she could help the tired woman 
and the three children. 

“We want some fruit, mamma ! ” one of those 
little girls had said, in a fretful voice. “We 
haven't had any dinner.” 

“We’ll have dinner when we reach Washing- 
ton,” said the mother. 

“ Oh, we can’t wait. Oh, mamma, we are so hot 
and tired ! ” 

The young man stopped, with a superior smile, 
and said, with a view to much amusement, — 

“Ah, Miss, you’re from the country, I see. 
You’ve lots of presents for the city folks. Can I 
do anything for you ? ” 


A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD. 


29 


Amelie met his bantering stare very modestly. 

“ Yes,” she said in her clear voice. “Just carry 
this melon to the porter and have him cut it up for 
those children. You can have a nice, large piece 
yourself.” 

The young woman was heard to laugh behind 
her novel. The you»g golfer grew red, and then 
meekly bore the melon to the porter. 

Amelie smiled, but took no further notice of 
the impudent young man. The three small chil- 
dren, in a little while, were quite happy. The 
rich red of the melon was disappearing, while they 
feasted their eyes on the white mice and the pic- 
ture of Abraham Lincoln. 

“ Susan would be pleased, I am sure, if she saw 
that tired mother, — and Pve kept the roses.” 

Thinking of others, she did not have time to feel 
lonely until she saw the dome of the Capitol from 
the car window. With a rush, all sorts of fears 
came upon her. She had never seen her cousins or 
lier aunt. She had met her uncle a few moments 
at her father’s funeral. Her cousins might not 
like her. She was neither clever nor attractive. — 
“ Washington ! ” The train stopped. 


30 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


V. 


THE HORSELESS CARRIAGE. 

Amelie stepped from the train, gratefully, 
leaving the white mice, the gorgeous picture, and 
the remains of the melon, with the children, who 
were equally grateful. The pink monthly roses 
had retained their freshness, and they seemed 
somehow or other to relieve her loneliness. They 
were pledges of Susan’s undying affection. Bag 
in hand she walked through the gate, and upstairs 
to the waiting-room. There was nobody to meet 
her, and it suddenly occurred to her that her cousins 
had not even a photograph of her. How could 
they be expected to know her? Nevertheless, she 
was unreasonably impatient at their not coming. 
Her uncle would have known her certainly, — for 
everybody said she was like her father. She found 
her purse and nervously made sure that her trunk- 
check and money were safe, and there, too, was the 
card with the Watsons’ address upon it. 


THE HORSELESS CARRIAGE. 


31 


A blue-capped smiling porter approached her. 

‘‘This way, Miss,” he said, taking her bag. 
He was doubtlessly a servant of the Watsons, 
Amalie thought. She was relieved ; she followed 
him very modestly through a great crowd of ex- 
cursionists waiting for another train. 

“ Step in. Miss,— there, your bag is all right.” 

Amelie obeyed, and found herself, to her sur- 
prise, in an automobile. 

“ Wliere do you want to go. Miss ? ” said the 
porter with extended cap. Amalie liad sufficient 
experience with servants to know what this meant. 
She dropped a quarter into the cap. He had not 
been sent by the Watsons, after all. She was not 
pleased to be in an automobile ; she had not even 
seen one before; the appearance of the thing rather 
frightened her. But she was ashamed to get out 
before all those people; it would look so “ countri- 
fied,” and Amelie was, above all, afraid of being 
“countrified;” so she sat bolt upright, with an 
air of great dignity. 

“ Where ? ” asked the driver, whom the careful 
would call a “ chauffeur.” 

In her nervousness, Amalie picked the wrong 
card from her pocket-book, and read “ Ecking- 


32 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


ton.” It was the card of an old schoolfriend’s 
mother, but Amalie, in her fear and doubt, could 
not just then distinguish very clearly. She was 
afraid of this new carriage, afraid of the new city, 
yet more afraid of letting anybody know that she 
was afraid. 

Eckington ! — all right ! ” the driver said. 

The automobile glided on the smooth asphalt 
with a queer sound that made Amalie more and 
more afraid. There might be an explosion at any 
moment, — and she had forgotten to secure her 
trunk ! She preserved her dignity, however, and, 
as the automobile passed onward, her fears began 
to grow less, — for she passed another of those 
doubtful vehicles filled with smiling children and 
a white-capped nurse. As the carriage had paused 
a moment near the station, to let a car go by, she 
saw two girls looking at her curiously. 

“ It might be,” said one ; “ we are a little late.” 

“No,” — and this Amalie heard, — “it can’t be 
she, — she would be in mourning.” 

But so great was her trepidation of mind, that 
the words seemed to have no special meaning at 
the time. In a dim way, she recalled the fact that 
her dear father had disliked mourning clothes, and 


THE HORSELESS CARRIAGE. 


33 


therefore, since his death, she had worn the color 
he liked best, — blue. She felt she would have 
liked to call out to the girls ; but the vehicle 
had gone away from them ; she looked back ; they 
were entering the station. 

On she sped. If Amelie had been in her usual 
frame of mind she would have enjoyed the drive ; 
but she was torn by various anxieties. They 
were in the suburbs now, — rows of locusts and oaks, 
with blossomless dogwoods, with here and there a 
touch of the pink of the briar-rose, seemed to pass 
her. The air was full of the soft perfume of cool 
groves. Suddenly a panic seized her. Where 
was the strange, silent being who managed this 
horseless carriage taking her? 

“ Are we near the Capitol ? ” she called out. 

‘‘ No,” said the driver, in a pleasant voice, we’ve 
been going away from the Capitol for some time. 
We’re at the gypsy camp, — do you want your for- 
tune told, Miss ? ” he asked, with a laugh. 

On her left Amalie saw a space, sparsely shaded, 
which contained two tents, a large, gaily painted 
van, and several children playing contentedly in 
the dust. A well-dressed, olive-skinned old lady 

was complacently smoking a pipe. 

3 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


34 : 

Amalie, who, by this time, had become somewhat 
morbid, principally because she had not eaten any- 
thing to speak of since morning, shrank back. 

“ Oh, dear,” she said, ‘‘I am lost.” 

“ Maybe you’ve given me the wrong address,” said 
the matter-of-fact voice. The gypsies won’t hurt 
you. Lots of people come out here to have their 
fortunes told.” 

“ I think it is a sin,” said Amalie in a faint voice. 
“ Oh, dear ! — here’s the right card ! ” She drew 
the card from her pocket-book, and tried to say, in 
a voice befitting a young lady determined to keep 
the driver in his place, Oh, dear, isn’t it awful ! 
The address is B street, near the Capitol.” 

On the Hill,” said the man, with a chuckle. 
“ Why, you might have walked there in five min- 
utes. Don’t be afraid. Miss, — I have a little girl 
just your age, myself.” 

Amalie blushed to the roots of her hair, and 
buried her face in the roses. The automobile 
turned, and she did not recover her dignity until 
the majestic dome of the Capitol came in sight 
again. 

Past the B. & O. station, past an engine house, 
with a pump near, past many black boys with 


THE HORSELESS CARRIAGE. 


35 


hoses refreshing small plots of grass, and foliage- 
covered houses, the automobile sped, until it stopped 
in front of a red brick house, with high brown- 
stone steps. 

‘‘ A dollar and a half. Miss.” 

Amelie took the money from her pocket-book, 
reflecting, as she did so, that if she went on at this 
rate of extravagance, her plans of economy would 
be as the idle wind. 


36 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


VI. 

SHE IS RECEIVED 

It was she! The automobile, pink roses, and 
all ! ” said Clara. “ My ! Isn’t she swell ? In 
an automobile ! I thought she was just a little 
country girl ! ” 

Mrs. Watson, who had been all anxiety for 
Amalie since the girls had returned from the 
station without her, was in the hall. She ran 
downstairs and clasped her niece in her arms. 

“ Oh, my dear, how much you are like my 
dear husband ! ” 

Amalie could only cling to her speechlessly. 
Then she began to ciy, as she looked up into her 
aunt’s face. 

“ And I am like father.” 

‘‘Do go out, Alice, and stop mamma’s making a 
scene on the pavement ! Do ! It is amusing all 
the neighbors.” 

“ She’s rather stylish,” said Alice. “ It’s too 


SHE IS RECEIVED. 


37 


bad we missed her. Papa telegraphed that he 
couldn’t come when we had been ready a half 
hour. It wasn’t our fault.” 

‘‘ I’m glad everybody has seen her come in an 
automobile ; it’s almost as good as a private car- 
riage.” 

The girls advanced to the door of the drawing- 
room, and their mother came in, with her arm 
-about Amalie’s waist. Bob had run out to secure 
the bag. 

“ Children,” said Mrs. Watson, ‘‘ this is your 
cousin, — now one of my daughters. I trust that 
you will love her as she deserves to be loved.” 

Very much touched, Alice and Clara bowed to 
Amalie. 

“ Let me take the flowers,” Alice said, while 
Clara stood still, uncertain whether she should 
kiss her cousin or not. The impulse was to be kind, 
but she lacked what Sister Angela called ‘^sim- 
plicity,” and she did not show her kindness. Alice 
was likewise undemonstrative ; she held the flowers 
in her hand. She felt an affectionate interest in 
Amalie, which she did not show for fear of 
being thought “gushing.” Bob, the curly- 
headed and mischievous, had no fears ; he kissed 


38 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Amalie and blinked his eyes, with an expression 
in his clenched fists which seemed to say, — “ If 
anybody says I’m crying. I’ll punch him.” 

Amelie, disengaging herself from her aunt’s 
arms, looked at her cousins. They seemed to her to 
be stiff and proud. She turned hastily from them. 

“May I go to my room. Aunt?” she asked. 

Alice drew herself up and Clara looked away, 
with an affectation of coldness. 

“ She is stuck-up,” Clara whispered, “ I can see 
it. I am sure I shall not like her.” 

Mrs. Watson, noticing, with a sigh, the expres- 
sions on the faces of her daughters, led the way to 
the room allotted to Amalie. It was a tiny room, 
hung with blue and white paper, with a toilet-table 
draped in the same colors, on which, in a tall glass, 
was a bunch of cornflowers. 

“ How pretty ! ” said Amalie, gratefully. 

“ Your father once wrote to me, ‘ My little girl 
loves cornflowers and blue and white,’ — so I re- 
membered it.” 

Amelie kissed her aunt again. 

“ And the little statue, too ? ” 

There was a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in a 
niche facing the bed. 


SHE IS RECEIVED. 


39 


“ That’s mine ! ” said Bob proudly. “ I lent 
you that ! ” 

Amalie looked at him, a mist of tears in her 
eyes. 

“ Wliat a good cousin you are ! ” 

If she had said ‘‘little, ” Bob would not have 
liked it. He smiled, and showed his teeth, 
Amalie felt that she had made a friend, and that 
moment friends seemed the rarest of possessions. 

“ Dinner will be served at six o’clock. You 
must rest until then. In the meantime I will send 
for your trunk. Come, Bob ! ” 

Amalie thanked her ; she looked out of the win- 
dow to forget her loneliness, for before her was 
a most beautiful scene, the Capitol rising from 
the exquisite terrace, supporting the great dome, 
with the dark figure upon it symbolizing hope and 
strength. 


40 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


VII. 

THE BITTER WORDS. 

One of those hot spells which make Washington 
almost unendarable had just passed. The asphalt 
on Pennsylvania Avenue no longer yielded to the 
foot as if it were a hot quicksand. A heavy rain 
had cleared the air, which, in the morning light, 
actually seemed to shine with crystalline brilliancy. 
Alice and Clara began to revive, and to grumble 
less about their enforced residence in the city. 

Amalie liked Mr. Watson. He was gentle in 
his manner, considerate in his actions ; but 
he had an air of one who was suffering. 
Amelie noticed that Mrs. Watson looked 
across the table once very anxiously at him. His 
high forehead and pleasant blue eyes reminded her 
very much of her own father. Amelie was drawn 
towards him because he seemed so gentle. Mrs. 
Watson was very sympathetic; but Amalie was 
somewhat repelled by what at times seemed to her 


THE BITTER WORDS. 


41 


to be a touch of worldliness. However, on exam- 
ining her conscience after the first day she rebuked 
herself for that suspicion. She knew that she was 
inclined to judge rashly, and she blushed when she 
realized that she might have so judged one to 
whom she owed her home. 

Alice and Clara, who had come down to dinner 
on the first night, dressed in their best white 
frocks, determined that they would treat Amalie 
with politeness, but nothing more. Clara said, 
very frankly, that her cousin was “ stuck-up,” and 
Alice called lier, in her confidences to Clara, 

“ heartless.” 

She ought to be in black,” said Alice. I 
think that a girl who would come down to din- 
ner in a blue frock, with lace around the neck, so 
soon after her father’s death, is a cold-hearted 
thing ! ” 

“ It does look queer, — I wonder mamma is not 
shocked.” 

Oh, mamma will forgive anything in her . 
niece, — much more than she would stand from her 
daughters. We’ll have to play second-fiddle now, 

I don’t see why she came here ; there’s no room 
for her.” 


43 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ She’s rather stylish, Alice,” said Clara. 

‘‘ Stylish ! As if that counted when one is too 
indifferent to wear mourning for one’s father. I 
could be stylish, too, if papa wasn’t so close with 
his money. He’s too mean ! ” 

“ We might have more things, — and go some- 
where. Why, all the people that don’t keep 
boarding-houses in this neighborhood are out of 
town. Sister Eulalie is always preaching patience. 
‘ Don’t spend too much money for bon-bons, and 
don’t go too often to the tlieater,’ I lieard her say 
to the Blue Ribbons the otlier day. She needn’t 
warn us ^ — witli our allowance, you can’t spend 
very mucli for candy or anything else.” 

“ Papa is close,” assented Clara. ‘‘ It’s really 
hard on us. All the girls of the scliool are out of 
town, and we well, we’ve a rich cousin, any- 

how, — a girl that can afford to drive in an automo- 
bile will have plenty of money to spend at 
Huyler’s.” 

“ We can make her feel that we’re not going to 
bow down to her, anyhow.” 

Amalie had, at the convent in New Orleans, 
been trained very methodically. An appeal, as to 
her duties, had been made to her conscience. She 


THE BITTER WORDS. 


43 


was not specially fond of music, but she arose 
sometime before breakfast to practise on the three 
days on Avliich slie did not go to Mass. 

‘‘ Horrible ! ” said Alice, on the second day after 
Amelie’s arrival. ‘‘ She would please our music 
teaclier, Miss Witherspoon. There goes Chopin’s 
‘ Trois Vaises ! ’ I really can’t stay in bed if this 
sort of thing is to be steady,” 

‘‘ Then mamma won’t Iiave to call you.” 

I tell you, Clara, she’s one of the goody-goody 
sort ; she’ll be an example to us, and father will 
make a text of her.” 

Fatlier looks worried. It’s because he isn’t a 
Catholic, I suspect. W ell, we’ve done all we could. 
I have said prayers and prayers.” 

And so have I. You may have my pink rib- 
bon for your hair, Clara, — it’s only a little soiled, 
and I’ll borrow your silk gloves for the Band Con- 
cert.” 

‘‘Not at all! I’ll not have your cast-off 
things I ” Clara protested in various keys until 
their mother called them to breakfast for the third 
time. 

During the first week Amalie was not happy. 
When he spoke to her, Mr. Watson was kind, but 




THE WATSON GIRLS. 


he seldom spoke. And, after the first two days, 
Mrs. Watson was well occupied with household 
affairs. She spent much time in making dresses 
for her daughters, while they occupied themselves 
with such novels as they could obtain. Bob was 
A^ery friendly ; he showed Amalie his rabbits, and 
he was most grateful when she gave him one of the 
two tennis rackets she had in her trunk. There 
was a tennis court not far off* which the young 
persons of the neighborliood were permitted to 
use. The Watson girls never took advantage of 
this, because they had no tennis suits, but they at 
once told Amalie it was because they might meet 
queer people there. 

On one afternoon when the girls were safe in 
their room. Bob and Amalie betook themselves to 
the game of cat’s-cradle, — one of Bob’s favorites. 
It grew tiresome after a while. 

“ Let’s play tennis ! ” 

Amalie brightened. 

“ Your mother ” 

“ Oh, mamma won’t object ; you go and get 
your racket ! ” 

Amalie had faithfully practised her Trois 
Vaises,” and the usual exercises; she had read the 


THE BITTER WORDS. 


45 


prescribed five pages of Stephanette ” in French, 
and sat silent for an hour. Her cousins, after 
luncheon, had gone off, with the cold excuses of 
bare civility ; her aunt was in her room, sewing, — 
Amalie could hear the whirr of the machine, — and 
she was left to herself and Bob. She liked exer- 
cise; she longed for a brisk walk, or even a game 
of croquet, and, when Bob suggested tennis, her 
eyes brightened. 

‘‘ I’ve asked mother,” Bob said, arriving with the 
two rackets, ‘‘ and she says ‘ yes.’ She says you 
must put on a loose shirt-waist ; and if there are 
any noxious people on the grounds, you’re not to 
speak to them ; and you’re not to sass anybody, — 
no, that was for me, nor to threaten to ‘ do ’ another 
boy as you — I mean me — did last time. Come ! ” 

Amelie ran up to her room, and returned attired 
with great comfort in a loose blouse and bright 
skirt, and a little red Cuban cloth hat. Her heart 
was light and she almost ran at Bob’s heels 
towards the tennis court. 

It was one of those cool days that cause the 
Washingtonians to declare that, even in August, 
their city is the only one worth living in. 

Two boys, of about Bob’s age, were already at 


46 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


the court. They were very gracious to Amelie, 
as small boys generally were. They offered her a 
bite from an early apple, and a piece of lemon 
candy, both of which she accepted. 

Then followed nearly two hours of real pleas- 
ure. 

“ Oh, what fun. Bob ! ” 

‘‘Ain’t it?” said Bob. “You’re a peach at 
tennis ! ” 

It was nearly five o’clock before Amelie and 
Bob reached the house. 

“ There’s somebody in the drawing-room,” Bob 
said. “ It’s that Inez Fawcett. There’s her cart 
at the door with the groom.” 

“ Oh, Bob, dear,” whispered Amalie, “ I’m not 
fit to be seen. Just draw the portiere in the hall 
so that I can run upstairs without being seen ! ” 

She stood in the doorway, while Bob silently 
obeyed her. 

“ Oh, yes, we’ve a cousin with us from the 
South,” she heard Alice say, “ but she’s not ex- 
actly our sort. She seems to have forgotten her 
father completely. He’s not dead a year; she 
doesn’t wear black, and she bangs away at the 
piano all day long.” 


THE BITTER WORDS. 47 

“ Awful ! ” said Inez, emphatically. I’d call 
her a beast if she was my cousin ! ” 

Amelie, — all the glow of contentment and 
pleasure gone from her, — crept to her room. 


48 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


' VIII. 

amelie’s plan. 

Amelie had always declared that she was not 
sensitive. And, sore as she was at heart, she tried 
to hold her head up and to say to herself that she 
did not care. She forget her father I His picture 
was in the center of the mantelpiece, framed in 
porcelain ; she took it and kissed it passionately. 
She forget ! How could they say so ? If they 
could see her heart, — if they could see her heart ! 
Oh, how could people be so cruel ? She would 
go away at once from a house where such unkind- 
ness was possible ! 

Forget her father! Slight his memory! Oh, 
could they think it ? — And yet she deserved un- 
kindness, — for how often had she been unkind? 
Father Frederick had rebuked her for sarcasm 
more than once. She deserved to be hurt ; — but 
not this ! — not this ! Nobody in all the world had 
ever loved anybody as she loved her father I 


amelie’s plan. 


49 


How harsh these people were in their judgment. 
She did not wear black, because he had always 
spoken against the custom. It seemed to her 
proper that she should wear the mourning dress, as 
other people did, — but she had obeyed his wishes. 
And, as to her music ! — if they only knew how it 
hurt her to play the pieces he had loved, and how 
hard it was for her to touch the keys of the piano. 
But they did not know ! — She did not care ! She 
threw herself on the bed in a passion of grief. 
Oh, if her father were only back ! 

After a time she dried her eyes ; but there was 
still a dull pain at her heart. Father Frederick 
had told her to read each day in the New Testa- 
ment, and in The Following of Christ; ” and her 
little volume of A’ Kempis’ work, given her by 
Sister Angela, was on the table beside her bed. 
She opened the book, and read, — 

‘‘ Surely thou canst not have both joys, — take 
thy pleasure in this world and afterwards reign 
with Christ. 

If to this day thou hadst always lived in honors 
and pleasures, what would it avail thee, if thou 
wert now in a moment to die ? ” 

She could not fix her mind on the passages. 

Her heart was full of bitterness. How vulgar 

4 


50 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


those j^oung girls were, with their discontent, their 
desire, young as they were, to ape fashionable 
people ! Nobody in the house wanted her to be 
there, except Bob. Mrs. Watson cared only for 
rich people ;; — it was with one of those rich people 
that those Watson girls were gossiping about her, — 
their own cousin ! She would have died rather 
than have done this. 

As she brushed her hair, — her cheeks burning the 
while, — the maid came to the door with the mes- 
sage that tho young ladies were having tea down- 
stairs. She refused to go down. 

‘‘ I can hear that false Alice trying to impress 
the rich girl with the idea that they have five o’clock 
tea every day. Then she will ask Miss Fawcett 
when she expects to come out, and say that her 
mother had tea during the season at tlie English 
Embassy. Oh, what snobs they are ! ” 

Amalie began to write rapidly. She would tell 
Sister Angela Oh, if she could be a nun! 

Nuns never suffered. They were alwa3^s so polite 
and sweet and serene and kind. She would tell 
Sister Angela that she wanted to enter the con- 
vent at once ^ — at once. She had suffered too much 
in this world to endure it any longer. She would 


amelie’s plan. 


51 


announce at dinner her determination to go to the 
convent on the very next day. 

Her pen flew over the paper; she gradually be- 
came, in her own eyes, a martyr. She was so glad 
now that she had the gift of composition. Sister 
Angela, who used sometimes to laugh at her ‘‘ he- 
roics,” would not laugh at this ! 

She sealed tlie envelope, without re-reading tlie 
letter, and called Bob to post it. She had barely 
time for her bath and a change of dress before the 
dinner-bell should ring. She noticed that the cart 
was still at the door, — that Fawcett girl, of whom 
she had heard so often, would probably stay to 
dinner. 

It was soon certain that this was the case. 
Amalie heard quick steps on the stair, and Mrs. 
Watson came in, rather nervously, to get the cut- 
glass vases from the top-shelf of the closet in Ama- 
lie’s room. 

“I hope that I am not inconveniencing you, my 
dear, —but Inez Fawcett will stay to dine with 
us, and I must make some preparation, — she is 
used to so much, you know, — she is such an ele- 
gant associate for the girls. It is very trying 
in this hot weather.” 


52 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Mrs. Watson certainly seemed worn and har- 
assed. Amelie looked at her, — a certain contempt 
in her heart. She had allowed that thoughtless 
speech to excite all the bitterness of her heart. 
Those girls neglected their father and mother, and 
yet they accused her of forgetfulness ! 

‘‘ Just wait till I tie this ribbon, aunt,” she said, 
having rapidly determined on a plan of campaign, 
‘‘ and I’ll help you.” 

‘‘ Thank you, dear ! The young ladies are so 
busy entertaining Inez, that I can’t disturb them. 
She’s so accomplished, — I hope you will hear her 
speak French and sing; you must observe her 
closely, she has such well-formed manners. In- 
deed, though you may find her to be a little haughty 
at first, you will see that she is very elegant. — 
The groom is driving off. She is going to stay, 
and there isn’t a fiower for the table ! The girls 
are so careless sometimes ! ” 

Amalie’s cheeks fiushed ; her pride was roused. 

“ I can find some flowers, aunt. Don’t worry ! ” 
she said, mounting the library ladder tliat always 
stood in the high closet. ‘‘Here are the vases. 
Anything else ? I’m going down to help you.” 

Mrs. Watson kissed her niece very gratefully. 


THE SALAD. 


63 


IX. 


THE SALAD. 

Amelie did not feel altogether comfortable 
when her aunt kissed her. She blushed, and with 
reason. Her aunt believed that she was making 
this offer out of love, but she knew in herself 
that it was out of the bitterness in her heart. She 
would show her cousins how to act. At the same 
time, she knew that she was about to do wrong, 
since what she was about to do had not a good 
motive. 

The fence that enclosed the back yard was cov- 
ered with that species of clematis^ whose flowers 
are white and tiny and set on sprays of very grace- 
ful leaves. Amalie went down, scissors in hand, 
and cut enough for the table ; she remembered 
there were several roses, — great crimson ones, — 
on the bushes on the little front lawn. She walked 
through the basement to tlie front yard, her head 
^ Clematis, — Virginiana. 


54 : 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


concealed in a sun-bonnet, and cut four splendid 
flowers, which were almost ready to fall to 
pieces. 

“ Who’s that ?” she heard Inez Fawcett ask. 

There was silence. 

Amalie’s first impulse was to disappear in the 
basement door. If she had followed it she would 
have been happier. She waited, and heard Clara’s 
voice say : — 

Oh, only a country cousin. You’ll meet her 
at dinner ! ” 

Amelie’s cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with 
tears — she. Judge Gray’s granddaughter, — she, Mr. 
^Watson’s own niece ! — to be called only a country 
cousin ! Sister Angela, hearing of this, would be 
obliged to confess that it was neither undue pride 
or sensitiveness that made her so angry. Oh, 
well, she would show them ! No ; she was not 
proud or sensitive ; but she had great self-respect ; 
she was like the Grays in that ! She would show 
them ! 

Mrs. Watson found her labors much lightened. 
Amalie flew about with the alacrity of a bird 
building a nest. She produced an elaborate cen. 
terpiece from her trunk, with great garlands of 


THE SALAD. 


55 


strawberries and leaves, for Mrs. Watson could 
find nothing in her stores to match the roses. 

‘‘ There’s nothing for desert but cantaloupes ! ” 
Mrs. Watson spoke despairingly. “ Bob has just 
come from the confectioner’s, to say that he could 
get only a quart of vanilla ice-cream. A big order 
for a Sunday school lawn party has engaged every- 
thing ! ” 

“ Leave that to me and the ‘ Creole Cook Book,’ ” 
Amalie answered, on her mettle. And I’ll be re- 
sponsible for the salad, too ! ” 

“ What a dear you are,” Mrs. Watson said with 
a sigh. ‘‘ I wish my girls were like you, — but, of 
course, a girl can’t be ornamental and useful, too. 
You’re going to be one of the Marthas of life.” 

No,” said Bob, “ Emmy will be the Cinderella, 
and I’ll be the Fairy Godfather.” 

“ Bob,” said Am&lie, inwardly raging at her 
aunt’s reference to the useful and ornamental, ‘‘ you 
cut the melons carefully in half, take the seeds out 
of them, and put them back on the ice ! Mind ! 

Bob obeyed without a word, which was unusual. 

“ There’s nothing but lettuce,” said Mrs. Watson 
timidly. She was rather over-awed by what in 
her mind, she called Amelie’s ‘‘initiative,” 


50 - 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ Lettuce will do. Madame brought me up on 
the ‘ Creole Cook Book/ aunt, — and I just had to 
know things. Come here, Bob, when you’ve put 
those cantaloupes back. Thank you, cook, you’ve 
dried those lettuce leaves very well. Til teach you 
how to make ‘ assaisonment Frangais.’ ” 

“ French dressing ? ” asked her aunt. Mine 
is never quite good.” 

Teach me,” said Bob. “ I’ll astonish father 
on Sunday by making it at the table.” 

“ Get the wooden fork and spoon for me.” 

“ Won’t a steel fork do ? ” 

‘‘No,” said Amfelie, forgetting her grievance 
in the pleasure of the work. Her frock was 
covered by a long blue apron, and even the cook, 
who hated people in her kitchen, was pleased by 
her way of “going about things.’^’ “No, Bob. 
Nobody ever touches lettuce leaves with steel.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Oh, just because,” said Amfelie, with de- 
cision, 

“ The dressing ought to be made at the table ; 
but we’ll have to mix it here, as I shouldn’t like to 
take so much responsibility before my city cousins 
and their elegant friend.” 


THE SALAD. 57 

Bob looked up in surprise at her tone, but she 
had turned away her head. 

Now, Bob, bring me that small bowl. You see, 
of course, that the lettuce leaves have not a drop 
of water on them. They must be dry, or your 
salad will be a failure. ,See! — I put three table- 
spoonfuls of olive oil into the bowl. Three^ 
mind, — and the oil firsts 

“ Why ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, because ; — you can find out the reason 
when you study chemistry, for cooking is only a 
higher kind of chemistry, Sister Angela says. 
Attention, Bob ! — I am gradually, — gradually^ you 
see, adding the one-fourth of a tablespoonful of 
black pepper and one-fourth of a tablespoonful of 
salt. See ! they are now thoroughly mixed. 
Now, — watch ! — I am gradually the vinegar. 

I stir the mixture for about a minute. Now, I 
pour it over tlje lettuce. It will not be so good 
as if it were done on the table, just before it is 
eaten. But, cook, you’ll have to stir it up in the 
big bowl before you bring it in.” 

“ Yes, Miss.” 

Bob repeated the directions over to himself. 

Of course, cooking is girl’s work ; but every 


58 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


man ought to know how to carve and make a salad 
papa says.” 

I’ll teach you to make dozens,” Amalie an- 
swered. 

“ It’s such a relief not to have to think of every- 
thing,” Mrs. Watson said. ‘‘Oh, such a relief! 
I wish my girls were like you ! ” 

Ainelie was delighted at this ; her aunt would 
doubtless say this to the girls themselves; — and 
that would make them envy her. In a few min- 
utes she had filled the cantaloupes with vanilla 
ice-cream, put the halves together again, and sur- 
rounded them with ice in the largest glass punch 
bowl. 

“ One half to each person,” she said. “Now, 
aunt, I think I’d better remain in the kitchen 
until after dinner. I can keep an eye on things.” 

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Watson. “That’s out of 
the question. The cook understands the soup and 
the black coffee. No, my dear, — we really can’t 
let you be tlie Ciinlerella of the house.” 

“ Thank you,” Amelia answered, with a touch 
of irony. “ I’ll see liow the table looks, and then 
run up to comb my hair.” 

Until the dinner-bell rang, she exulted in the de- 


THE SALAD. 


59 


termination to avenge herself on those girls. The 
beautiful engraving of Carlo Dolci’s “ Mother of 
Sorrows ” looked down on her from the wall. She 
did not let her eyes rest upon it for a moment. 
She tied a white ribbon in her hair, took the 
handful of pansies from the glass on her table, 
and went to the drawing-room. The girls and Inez 
Fawcett were laughing in their chamber. 

‘‘ About me^ of course,” Amalie thought. 

Mr. Watson was in the drawing-room, reading 
the evening paper. He kissed her affectionately. 
She pinned the yellow pansies in his buttonhole. 
He seemed pleased. 

‘‘ You are so thoughtful, child,” he said. How 
did you know I like pansies ?” 

‘‘ I just guessed it.” 

“ I wish,” he begun ; then he broke off with a 
sigh, ‘‘I wish — all girls were like you.’’ 


60 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


X. 

“ SHOWING OFF.” 

The dinner went off well. Bob praised the salad 
extravagantly. The twilight began to fall, and 
the tall silver candelabra were brought in ; — in fact. 
Miss Fawcett, a tall, blonde girl, with a rather 
artificial manner, and a loud voice, was compelled 
to admit that everything was in good taste. 

She came here because she had no place else to 
go,” said Amelie to herself. I can see that. All 
her other friends are out of town, and she is only 
kept by the dentist.” 

Mr. Watson called attention to his pansies. 

‘‘ There’s a little girl that thinks of me,” he 
said. I shall not forget it.” 

“Pansies, — ‘ and there is pansies, and that is for 
thoughts,’ ” quoted Mrs. Watson, greatly pleased 
by the success of the dinner so far. 

“ Wasn’t it Longfellow said that?” asked Miss 
Fawcett. “ I’m sure I heard it somewhere.” She 


SHOWING OFF. 


61 


was seventeen; she adored Marie Corelli, and 
was considered well read. 

‘‘No,” said Alice, with authority. “It’s not 
grammatical and Longfellow always writes good 
grammar ; when I was in the Fifth Grade we used 
to parse him.” 

Mr. Watson chuckled. 

“ Oh, my dear, you’re a modern,” he said. 

“ Who can tell me what this ungrammatical 
Ophelia says about the violets ? ” 

There was silence, and Miss Fawcett, who was 
accustomed to be the queen of her company, wished 
that the conversation had not become literary. 

“ ‘ There’s a daisy,’ ” spoke up Amelie ; “ ‘ I 
would give you some violets, but they withered 
all,’ ” she paused ; she had not thought of what 
followed when she began. But she must go on; 
she would not show feeling before these people ; 
yet her voice trembled. “ ‘ There’s a daisy,’ ” she 
repeated, “‘'I would give you some violets, 
.but they withered all when my father died. 
They say he made a good end.’ ” 

“ That’s from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. A pro- 
fessor read it in the hall of Gonzaga College ; I 
heard it. Wilfred Goode, who goes to that school, 


62 


THE WATSOlSf GIRLS. 


took me ?” said Bob. ‘‘ You ought to have heard 
the mail speak what the ghost said ; it was leery, 
— no mistake. It was bloomin’ leery.” 

No slang ! ” said Mrs. Watson. 

Mrs. Watson suggested that they should take 
their coffee in the drawing-room, while Clara, who 
never took coffee, should play one of her pieces. 
The girls looked at their mother gratefully ; — 
Inez Fawcett must be impressed with their “ good 
form.” It was rather a bitter drop in their pleas- 
ure to hear their father say : — 

You girls really ought to imitate your cousin, 
and read some good poetry.” 

Amalie heard it ; she exulted ; her plan was 
working. 

Clara played the. hated Melody in F,” but even 
she could not altogether spoil it. 

“You sing. Miss Fawcett?” Mrs. Watson 
asked. 

“ Oh, yes, Inez sings very well.” 

Inez smiled, and taking off her bracelets, ran 
her hands over the keys, and gang, “O Promise 
Me,” with many vocal ornaments, and a tremolo. 

Amelie smiled, as she gathered up the coffee 
cups. She hoped they would ask her to sing. 


SHOWING OFF. 


63 


cc 


?? 


I wish my little niece would give us some- 
thing,” Mrs. Watson said, when Inez Fawcett had 
been induced to sing a second time, with many 
airs and graces. “ I hear her practising vocal ex- 
ercises sometimes.” 

‘‘With pleasure,” Amalie said. She admired 
Inez Fawcett for the readiness she showed to sing 
when she was asked. “ She has been taught to do 
the proper thing, at least. Nobody hesitates to 
play now^ 

Ainelie began the prelude to the “ Lorelei.” 
Her cousins exchanged glances ; she couldn’t sing 
that. But she began in German : 

“ Ich weiss nicht, was soil es bedeuten, 

Dass ich so traurig bin ; 

Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten, 

Das komint mir nicht aus dein Sinn.” 

Amalie had a sweet soprano voice, and she was 
very careful to make the accompaniment really an 
accompaniment, and not to give the chords as if 
they were the second part in a duet. 

Mr. Watson, who was musical, listened, sur- 
prised. Amalie’s voice was absolutely true, and, 
though it was not great in volume, it was sympa- 
thetic, and she evidently was following to the 


64 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


letter, the precepts of her teacher. Everybody 
listened with pleasure. 

“ Die Luft ist kiihl und esdunkelt, 

Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein ; 

Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt 
In Abendsonnenschein.” 

There was nothing showy or unusual about Ama- 
lie’s performance. It was evident that she had a 
good teacher, and that she was very careful to 
make the most of her voice and training. 

“ I have heard that many times before,” said 
Bob. Why do you sing it in German ? ” 

It was written by the German poet, Heine, 
who was an exquisite poet at times; but a great 
mocker at serious things.” 

“ Then you don’t know German? ” said Clara, 
relieved. 

“ No, I just learned that song in German.” 

“ You can’t tell us the English, then ? ” said Bob, 
in a disappointed tone. 

‘‘ Oh, yes. I can recite Bishop Spalding’s 
translation, — Shall I ? ” 

Do,” said Bob. “ Please, dol” 

Amalie’s eyes sparkled. She knew that she 
could read this particular piece well. She did 


'^SHOWING OFF.” 65 

not move from the piano stool, but merely turned, 
facing the hearers: — 

‘‘ Why I am sad I can not tell ; 

A legend of the olden time 
Rings in my heart like far-off bell, 

And thrills me with its solemn rhyme. 

“ The day stoops low, the air is chill, 

And silent flows the darkling Rhine ; 

Upon the brow of vine-clad hill 
The rays of setting sun soft shine. 

“ High on the rocks a maiden fair 
Sits all alone, as angel bright ; 

She sits and combs her golden hair, 

While day is sinking into night. 

‘ She combs her hair with golden comb. 

And sings the while, a sweet, sad song. 

Which floats away as the flecking foam 
Is borne by flowing wave along. 

* The boatman drifting in a dream 

Glides on, and thrills with wildest pain ; 

The rocks he sees not in the stream, 

Enchanted by that plaintive strain. 

“ The wave I ween will swallow soon 
The boatman in his reverie. 

The Lorelei in her witching tune 
Sings with the voice of destiny.” 

“ You have a very clear enunciation, Amalie,’’ 

her aunt said. “ I wish my girls ” 

5 


66 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ Oh, mamma, don’t,” Alice said. “ Inez, you 
sing something in French, don’t you ? ” 

‘‘Yes, — but I can’t remember the words of ‘La 
Couronne d’ Or.’ Let me think.” 

“ This is the way it goes!” Amalie turned to 
the piano and played the accompaniment, singing. 

La couronne d’or 
N’est pas d’un roi 
La perle, — c’ est foi, 

C’est verite ; — pour moi 
Sans amour je n’etais pas roi.” 

“ Dear me ! You know everything,” said Alice, 
enviously. “ Why didn’t you tell us ? ” 

“ She seems to be very highly accomplished for 
a country cousin,” said Inez, in rather a disap- 
pointed tone. “ At least,” she whispered to Clara, 
“ she knows how to show off. Good-by — there’s 
my trap waiting. Thanks, awfully.” 


AN INTERVIEW, 


67 


XI. 

AN INTERVIEW. 

“ I don’t care ! ” Amalie said, when she was 
alone in her room. “ I hate everybodj^ ! ” 

And yet her uncle had congratulated her, lier 
aunt had pressed her hand warmly, her cousins 
were evidently impressed by her talent, and Inez 
Fawcett had been taught that the country 
cousin ” was not an awkward ignoramus. She 
had interested Bob, helped her aunt, given pleas- 
ure to her uncle, — and still she was irritated, 
conscience-stricken and unhappy. She had suc- 
ceeded in throwing her cousins in the shade. She 
knew that both her uncle and aunt had been com- 
paring their girls with her during the evening, 
much to their disadvantage, and that the elegant 
Miss Fawcett had been forced to admit the 
“ country cousin’s ” cleverness. She had suc- 
ceeded in what she had set out to do, and she had 
heard, too, that whisper about “ showing off ! ” 


68 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ I hate everybody I What a mean, gossiping 
tlhng that Inez F'awcett is! ‘Showing off!’ I 
heard, — and my cousins laughed. Nice cousins ! ” 
Amalie added, sarcastically, “to turn against you 
for the first stranger that comes, — just as ill-bred 
upstarts always do.” 

In her heart Amalie knew that she had tried to 
“ show off ” with a view of making her cousins 
and Miss Fawcett envious ; she knew that her 
motive in helping her aunt and in teaching Bob to 
make the salad had been mean and unworthy. 
There was no consolation in the knowledge that 
her aunt regarded her as a kind, helpful girl, or 
that Bob thought that she was phenomenally 
good. Her own heart was a witness against her. 
She had gained her end, but she could not lie 
down with a clear conscience. She had done 
harm^ and she had done it wilfully. , 

They had provoked her and had been disdain- 
ful! But was it well that she should return dis- 
dain for disdain ? She had been brought up as a 
good Catholic ; she had believed herself to be one ; 
she knew that the object of religion was not the 
mere learning of the Catechism or the knowing of 
the texts of Scriptures that support the doctrines 


AN INTERVIEW. 


69 


of the Church, or even strict observance of duties, 
— but the love of God, shown in thought and 
action, the love of her neighbor, the desire to do 
God’s will, the having the thought of the dear 
Lord always near. 

She looked up at the Mater Dolorosa ; ” tlie 
eyes seemed full of reproach. She had gained her 
end, — and yet she dared not say the ‘‘ Our Father ! ” 
‘‘I cannot forgive she said ; ‘ showing off,’ 

indeed ! I’ll make them sorry for it! ” 

That what had been said was ti ne made it all 
the more bitter. There is nothing hurts so much 
as the truth, spoken by unloving lips. Her pride 
and self-love liad been hurt. She knew that she 
could gain no comfort from her confidants. Sister 
Angela and Father Frederick. Slie knew that, if 
she told the truth, they would condemn her. She 
blushed when she thought how entirely her uncle 
and aunt would change their opinion of her, if they 
knew her heart and mind. They would think that 
she was a hypocrite I 

“ It’s time to go to bed, my dear,” her aunt’s 
voice said outside the door. 

‘‘ Come in, please.” 

Mrs. Watson entered, smiling. 


TO 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


You must not stay up so late, Amalie. By 
and by, when you go out to parties, you will have 
no complexion at all.” 

I don’t want any complexion, Aunt Anne,” an- 
swered Amelie, choking down a sob. ‘‘ I hate 
parties ; — but I’m a hypocrite, — that’s all ! ” 

Mrs. Watson looked at Amalie’s tear-stained 
face in amazement. She sat down in the big arm- 
chair, and drew her niece to her. 

“ You’re morbid, my child.” 

‘‘ I don’t know what you mean, aunt; but I do 
know that I am bad. I did try to show off — I 

did try to appear better than my cousins — I ” 

Amelie broke down, to sob on her aunt’s shoul- 
der. 

‘‘You shock me, child ! ” 

“ I knew you would hate me if I told you, but I 
had to tell ! ” 

“ Don’t worry. The girls must liave done 
something to you to make you feel ” 

“ Oil, I don’t want to find fault with them, — 
that would not excuse me.” 

Mrs. Watson shook her head. “ They are so 
thoughtless, — but they are only little girls yet. 
You mustn’t mind. What did they do ? ” 


AN INTERVIEW. 71 

‘‘ Papa never liked me to wear black,” faltered 
Amalie, ‘‘ and ” 

I see. Some unkind remarks. I do not seem 
to have much control over my daughters. I am 
sure I wish they would always be gentle and kind. 
If they were, I am sure it would help to bring 
their father nearer to the Church. If we were 
rich they would be better satisfied, but we are not, 
and there are so many richer people about them. 
I am sure I don’t know what is the matter,” said 
Mrs. Watson, helplessly. “ Now, go to bed, my 
dear, and forget all about it.” She kissed her 
niece affectionately, and left the room. 

It was too late to read in the New Testament 
or “ The Following of Christ,” so Amalie said a 
hearty act of contrition before the crucifix : “ I 
will be good; I will be patient; I will help Aunt 
Anne as well as I can,” she said ; and then sleep 
bore her away to dreamland. 


72 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XII. 

THE NOTE. 

A WEEK passed. Notwithstanding the objec- 
tions made by Mrs. Watson that the heat made it 
“ impossible,” Bob insisted on taking Amalie, not 
only up to the interior of the dome of the Capitol, 
but to the top of the Washington Monument. 
Amalie did not find all this very easy work, 
but she had learned to. like Bob, and she found 
pleasure in pleasing him. The manner of her 
cousins became more and more distant. Alice 
whispered several times to Clara that “ the country 
girl was trying hard to please.” And once, when 
she offered to help Mrs. Watson with her sewing, 
Clara said aloud that she “ hated hypocrisy.” 
Amalie’s sympathies were with Mr. Watson, who 
seemed very weary when he came home in the 
evening. There was, as a rule, always some- 
thing unpleasant awaiting him. If the cook had 


THE NOTE. 


Y3 

been cross, or Alice found her music more difficult 
than usual, or Clara’s friends had not called, as 
they promised, — Mr. Watson was promptly told of 
it. Amelie had been brought up in a different 
school, the practise of which was to reserve the 
pleasantest bits of talk for the dinner-table. She 
had loved her father so intensely, that his face be- 
came like an open book to her. She could read 
his thoughts by every change of expression. She 
wondered why the girls did not see that their 
father loved them so much that the slightest at- 
tempt on their part to please him would have made 
him very happy. Mindful, however, of her fail- 
ure to be true to herself, she did not censure her 
cousins even in her thoughts. She was an ener- 
getic girl, and she had been trained in a school 
which holds that the best recreation is a cliange of 
work. She liked to dust the furniture and bric- 
a-brac in the drawing-room, and she would have 
enjoyed the work of helping Mrs. Watson to do 
her marketing, but she did not dare to suggest it. 
Her own piano, — a little upright, — was sent to her, 
and she played during the time stipulated for 
by Sister Angela, in her own room. The Watson 
piano was a Stein way, bought in the days of Mr. 


u 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Watson’s greater prosperity, but her cousins did 
not ask her to use it. 

Alice and Clara were, in some respects, too old 
for their years, — the artificial point of view which 
no girl should have, had been acquired by them. 
For instance, they judged other people by their 
clothes ; richness of material and fashionable cut 
attracted their preference at once. Clara, young 
as she was, was all for style, and she had a very 
poor opinion of the people next door because little 
Mark, their negro servant, did not wear a blue 
suit with brass buttons, as their ‘‘ boy ” did, after 
the manner of Inez Fawcett’s little groom. 

It would be unjust if the impression was given 
that Amalie had naturally a good temper. In 
fact, since she had made her first confession, her 
chief struggle had been against fits of rage and 
impatience which are generally characteristic of 
proud and sensitive persons. There was one great 
redeeming trait in Amalie ; she had learned what 
very few young people learn, practically, — that her 
religion must be lived ; and she tried to live to it. 

Amalie’s guardian allowed her a sufficient 
amount of money for all necessary expenses and 
reasonable amusements. Economy with her was a 


THE NOTE. 


Y5 

matter of choice not of necessity. Of all qualities, 
this was most despised by the Watson girls, who 
made up their minds at once that Amalie was 
wretchedly poor because she and Bob divided 
their expenses and ‘‘settled up ’’carefully after 
their numerous trips. 

Amalie, strong in her belief that she must prac- 
tise humility, since she had “ shown off ” so out- 
rageously, was gentle and quiet in the presence of 
her cousins. She did not, as a rule, meet them at 
breakfast, as she and Bob went out into the coun- 
try for a trolley ride very early. Luncheon was a 
moveable meal, — so that it was only at dinner the 
whole family met. The weather had grown cooler, 
and Mr. Watson, when he came home, seemed more 
cheerful than usual. Alice and Clara, who had 
come down in pretty pink frocks, seemed rather 
tired of life. But this expression was quite habit- 
ual with them, in the presence of their father, 
except w^hen he gave them money or promised 
tliem some indulgence they asked for. Bob was 
in high spirits ; he and Amelie had been at George- 
town College, and one of the Fathers, to whom 
Am&lie had a letter, had shown them many inter- 
esting things. 


76 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ I shall take you all to the Band Concert to- 
morrow night,” Mr. Watson said. 

‘‘We’ll have to have dinner earlier,” said Mrs. 
Watson, in a complaining voice. “ Cannot we hear 
the Marine Band from the grounds by staying at 
home ? I often hear it.” 

“ No ; and it wouldn’t hurt cook to have dinner 
an hour earlier.” 

“ The people who go there are — everybody,” 
said Alice. “ It’s so promiscuous ! ” 

“ I think you can go anywhere^ I am willing to 
take you,” said Mr. Watson. “ This soup is good, 
real Gumbo. The cook has improved, mother.” 

“ Oh, Amalie taught her to make it,” said Mrs. 
Watson. Mr. Watson smiled amiably at Amelie. 

Alice giggled. 

“ Miss Brown, our first teacher, used to say 
that domestic drudges don’t find time for much 
else,” she added in a whisper plainly heard by 
Amalie. 

“ The program looks well. There are tliree 
of my favorites down, — Mendelssohn’s ‘ Swing 
Song,’ Schubert’s ‘ Serenade ’ and Wagner’s ‘ Even- 
ing Star.’ What do you think of that, Alice? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Alice. “ I think that the 


THE NOTE. 77 

Marine Band is rather slow when it plays those 
old-fashioned things.” 

“I suppose you never heard of Mozart or 
Wagner? ” 

Oh, yes, Sister Eulalie speaks about them some- 
times, and there’s a lecturer comes who talks about 
musicians ; but I don’t pay much attention.” 

There was silence, during which Mr. Watson 
looked disappointed, and Amelie, forgetting her 
resolution to efface herself, spoke : 

“ So you like Mozart, Mr. Watson?” 

u Very much — that is, the Sonatas. The operas 
are more Italian than German, I think. If Mo- 
zart were an Italian, I think I should like ‘ Don 
Giovanni’ better. Von Weber is more German. 
A man ought to follow the genius of his nation.” 

This was beyond Amalie’s depth, and she said 
so, with a laugh. 

‘‘ I don’t know the difference. But I gather, 
from what I have heard at school, that Mozart 
could not help writing like the Italians, because 
they really made the opera.” 

‘‘ He improved on them. Do you sing anything 
of Schubert’s ? ” 

‘‘ No — I wish I could. The only German songs 


78 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


I know are the ‘ Lorelei/ Abt’s ‘ When the Swal- 
lows/ and an ‘Ave Maria’ in German, set to 
some music by Von Suppe.” 

“ Do you know, my dear, I think I’ll get down 
my old violin and try an obligato with you ? ” 

Alice laughed. It will be very funny, papa ! ” 

“ Do ! ” said Bob ; “ and I’ll play the mandolin.” 

“ Oh my ! ” said Clara, derisively. 

“ Well,” said Bob, “ we want some music, and 
you girls will never play when you are asked.” 

“ Oh, my ! ” said Clara^ more derisively. 

‘‘ I don’t know what arrangement of Schubert’s 
‘ Serenade ’ the leader of the Band will play to- 
morrow afternoon, but I think we shall enjoy it, 
as he is a man of excellent taste. It is strange 
that, although Schubert wrote in nearly all musical 
forms, his songs are the only compositions worthy 
of him.” 

‘‘ I wish I knew more of his soiigs. I wish I 
knew as much as you know about the composers,” 
Amalie said, impulsively. 

Alice and Clara looked at her in genuine sur- 
prise. They had never thought of their father as 
knowing anything except law. 

“ Father Garland tells me that the choir of St. 


THE NOTE. 


T9 


Aloysius’ is to give two fine Masses in October ; 
it will be a great pleasure to talk them over with 
you. One can learn so much ! ” 

Mrs. Watson looked uneasy. 

“ I sliould like you to explain some parts of 
Mozart’s 12th to me ” 

‘‘ I never go to Mass,” said Mr. Watson, coldly. 

‘‘ But you must, if you want to know what 
great music is ! ” exclaimed Amalie. 

Mr. Watson looked grim. Then he caught a 
glimpse of the dismay on Amalie’s face, and 
smiled. 

A humble pupil, you are ! ” he said, laughingly, 
“ And yet I believe you’re right. I have never heard 
Mass sung in a church.” 

Mrs. Watson seemed very much relieved. At 
this moment, Maik came in with a note for Alice. 

The boy wants an answer.” 

‘‘ May I read it, mamma ? ” asked Alice. 

Certainly, my dear — if it is urgent.” 

‘‘It is about the lawn-party at ‘ The Oaks,’ I’m 
sure.” 

With an expectant smile, Alice opened the note 
and read it. Her countenance changed. 

“ It’s disgusting ! ” she said. “ Mamma, you’ll 


80 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


have to answer it. I can’t, To think of — of — of 
that girl being preferred to me ! I’ll never speak 
to Inez Fawcett again ! ” 

Alice sobbed, drew out her handkerchief and 
rose from the table. In amazement, Mrs. Watson 
asked Mark to bring the note to her. 


THE NOTE IS READ. 


81 


XIII. 

THE NOTE IS READ. 

Up to this moment, Amalie had really enjoyed 
herself. She was interested in all things musical, 
and she felt, too, that she was pleasing her uncle 
— and she wanted very much to please him. She 
had, too, the knowledge that she was not trying 
to “ show off.” When Alice left the table in 
tears, Amalie foresaw some new misfortune. 

“ It’s perfectly heartless ! ” Alice was heard 
exclaiming in the drawing-room. 

“ What is it?” asked Mr. Watson, rather im- 
patiently. 

“ Inez Fawcett writes : — ‘ My Dear Alice — 
Mrs. Beaver has sent me only two cards for the 
open-air performance of ‘‘ Le Miracle des Roses,” 
at The Oaks ; ” and, as there are some members 
of the diplomatic corps to be of the party, she 
wants me to invite a girl who speaks the lan- 
guages. Now, you dear old thing, you knowyou^ 


82 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


don’t. So I thought, with your mother’s per- 
mission, I would call for your cousin, who seems 
rather a showy girl, and not at all like a country 
mouse, on Thursday, at 3:30. We go out by train. 
You don’t mind, I am sure. 

“ ‘ Your own Tootsy, 

‘‘ ‘ Inez.’ ” 


“ What is Alice crying about ? ” asked Bob. 
“ The Fawcett giil doesn’t want her — that’s all.” 

“ Boys are so hard-hearted,” said Clara. “ Why, 
Inez is Alice’s friend ! ” 

‘‘Her own ‘Tootsy!’ Oh, my!” Bob ex- 
claimed, laughing. “ Well, if anybody called me 
‘ Tootsy,’ I’d smash his head.” 

“Don’t be so rude! I should be ashamed to 
‘cut out’ a girl’s friend the way some people have 
done,” Clara said, sarcastically, with a glance at 
Amelie. “Alice may not know languages, but 
she would not do that^ 

“My dear,” Mr. Watson asked, with a look of 
repressed wrath in his eyes, “ May I ask what all 
this means ? Alice in tears, Clara openly attack- 
ing her cousin, and a foolish, but harmless, note 
from Inez Fawcett ! ” 


THE NOTE IS READ. 


SB 


‘‘ It is all my fault, uncle,” said Amalie, before 
her aunt could speak. ‘‘ I have already spoken 

of it ” 

To Mrs. Watson said ; ‘‘ and, I confess, if 
there were any fault, it seems to me it was a very 
sliglit one. Amelie overheard something that had 
been said, and she tried to show that she was not 
quite ignorant ; and Inez Fawcett thinks she is 
more presentable than Alice.” 

Amalie blushed. Mr. Watson groaned. ‘‘If 
Alice paid more attention to study, Inez miglit 
not have thought so. I notice that Alice does 
nothing but grumble about school, and even if 
Sister Eulalie finds fault with her, she does not 
hesitate to pose as a martyr.” 

“Uncle,” said Amelie, in a low voice, “I don’t 
know more than Alice ; I only made Inez think 
so. I had a German governess for a few months 
— a sweet, young girl, who had no friends — and 
she taught me some German songs. Of course, 
I speak French; I couldn’t help that. I am so — 
so Sony ! — so very soriy ! ” 

“ Ask Mark to bring in the coffee, my dear. This 
sort of thing spoils one’s dinner. Don’t cry, Amelie, 
for goodness’ sake! One peipetual fountain of 


84 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


tears in the house is enough ; and Alice supplies 
that. Do you want to go to this lawn-party ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Amelie : “ besides, I have not 
been out since papa’s death.” 

“ He has been dead over a year,” said Mrs. 
Watson. “I really think Amalie ought to go. 
Inez will not like it if she does not, and will prob- 
ably not come here again. And she is a very 
desirable acquaintance for the girls.” 

“I beg your pardon,” answered Mr. Watson, 
decidedly, “ but I don’t think so.” 

“ Oh, papa ! ” exclaimed Clara. ‘‘ She is the 
most stylish girl we know ! ” 

“ She goes into the best society in Washington,” 
said Mrs. Watson. “ There ! I hear her voice in 
the drawing-room now ! She has probably driven 
over to make things right.” 

“ Who taught you those German songs ? ” Mr. 
Watson asked, evidently irritated, and wishing to 
change the subject. 

‘‘Miss Von Otto — Paulina Von Otto; she is 
teaching in a school in Richmond. She was so sweet 
and gentle ; she had such a great sorrow in her life.” 

“ I hope you will sing them for me when the 
mighty Miss Fawcett goes,” he said. 


amelie’s trouble. 


85 


XIV. 

amelie’s trouble. 

Miss Fawcett met Mrs. Watson and Amalie 
with great effusion. She wore a fluffy white 
dress, with a lace fichu, and a red hat over-bur- 
dened with poppies and cherries. 

‘‘ I do hope I haven’t disturbed you. Mrs. 
Beaver has just sent me, by a messenger, a third 
ticket; so dear Alice will not have to stay at 
home, after all. There’s a large house-party at 
‘ The Oaks,’ and it’s going to be the prettiest 
sight! If it rains, they’ll sing ‘ Le Miracle des 
Roses ’ in the big hall. So wear your prettiest 
frock and hat. Miss Watson.” 

Amalie was not accustomed to being called 
Miss,” and she was, for a moment, silent. 

Oh, do you mean me ? ” she asked. “ It’s very 
kind of you to think of me, but I really cannot go.” 

“Why not?” asked Inez, amazed. “Your 
aunt doesn’t object ? ” 

“ Oh, no, Inez,” said Mrs. Watson. 


86 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ It is the swellest thing!” 

I like parties, of course,” said Amalie; ‘‘but 
I have never gone to fashionable parties — in fact, 
I have never gone yet to any ‘ grown-up ’ parties.” 

“ It is time you began,” said Inez. “ Why, when 
I was fourteen I went to dances.” 

“ It is against our way,” said Amalie, her color 
rising. “ Father and Madame and Sister Angela 
said ” 

“ Oh, don’t mind old fogies,” Inez interrupted. 
“ Thei e’ll be lots of young people there. All the 
performers in ‘ Le Miracle des Roses’ are very 
young people. If you dress well, and perhaps 
sing a little song, you’ll be a great success.” 

Inez spoke in the most assured and patronizing 
manner. “ It’s a great honor to be asked to Mrs. 
Beaver’s, if you only knew it.” 

“ Mrs. Beaver doesn’t know me from Adam,” 
said Amelie. “I do not want to be fashionable. 
I am only a young girl still — not a young lady ; 
and I wish you hadn’t noticed me at all ! ” 

“ Amalie ! ” Mrs. Watson said, warningly. 

“ Oh, I know, aunt, I have done nothing but 
make mistakes since I have come liere ! There 
was always father, or Madame de Guerin, or Sister 


AMELIE^S TROUBLE. S7 

Angela to tell me things before, but now I’ve got 
to depend on myself. I wish I were ” 

Amalie paused ; the truth that she had no home 
made her pause. It fell upon her heart like a 
clod upon a coffin. ‘‘ I wish I were not here giv- 
ing you all trouble ! ” 

You mean to say that you don’t want to go to 
the swellest thing of the summer ?” asked Inez, 
incredulously. ‘‘ That you refuse me? ” 

Yes,” said Amalie, raising her head, and look- 
ing as stately as she could. 

‘‘ Oh, thank you,” said Inez, rising. ‘‘ And you, 
too, Mrs. Watson. Alice was riglit when she said 
that her cousin was a ‘ raw, country girl.’ I fan- 
cied she was wrong. I can understand what 
‘showing off,’ means now. It will be a long time 
before I trouble you or Alice or Clara with invita- 
tions again.” 

“ My dear Inez ! ” began Mrs. Watson. 

“ Don’t bother about her, mother ! ” cried Bob, 
from tlie depths of the great basket-chair. “ She 
is only pretending to be a young lady ; I know 
her. Young ladies don’t talk that way. If Alice or 
Clara want to go to this grown-up party, they can 
go with Belinda Murray, in North Capitol Street.” 


88 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ Belinda isn’t asked,” said Inez, descending 
from her height, to combat an assertion which 
seemed to her to be monstrous. “ I don’t be- 
lieve it.” 

“ She is asked to sing in a duet. She hates it, 
but she has to go because her music teacher is a 
friend of Mrs. Beaver’s, and Mrs. Beaver had to 
give her three tickets. Belinda’s the only little 
girl who knows the part. Tlieie, now ! There 
are other people just as ‘ swell ’ as you. ‘ Tootsy ! ’ 
Oh, my ! ‘ Tootsy ! ’ ” And Bob apparently 

twisted himself into a knot of laughter. 

“ Good-bye,” Inez said, freezingly. ‘‘ I shall 
not call soon again. My mother and I will leave 
cards, of course, in the Fall. I regret that Alice 
should have proved to be such a false friend.” 

Mrs. Watson could not prevent Inez’ dignified 
exit. The end of her fichu caught for a moment 
in the arm of Bob’s chair. 

“Wait, Inez,” he said, “ till I get a broom to sweep 
the dust of this house from the soles of your feet.” 

Inez pretended not to hear him, but sailed 
majestically from the room. 

“ It’s all my fault ! All my fault ! ” Amalie said. 

Her aunt said no word to comfort her. 


THE BOY OP THE WATER-LILIES AGAIN. 89 


XV. 


THE BOY OF THE WATER-LiLIES AGAIN. 

Amelie went up to her room. The light had 
almost faded. She could hear her aunt scolding 
Bob for his rudeness. And yet Bob was the only 
one in that house who loved her ! Troubled as 
she was, she could not help laughing as she 
thought of his funny accent on the sentimental 

Tootsy.” She lit the candle on the toilet table, 
as a way of relieving her loneliness, for she dis- 
liked the gray of the twilight ; it always made 
her sad. She would go away! She could Jiot 
endure this continual coldness and discontent. 
What had she done ? Nothing much — only yielded 
to a little impulse of vanity and anger. But the 
words ‘‘ vanity ” and ‘‘anger” made her pause. 
She was sorry — so sorry I She knelt for a mo- 
ment and made an Act of Contrition. Neverthe- 
less, even if God had forgiven her, she thought 
the conseq[uences remained. The quarrel which 


90 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


had just occurred had come through her attempt 
to show off. Alice would never forgive her for 
it. Clara would dislike her for it. Mrs. Watson 
would perhaps think that she was a mischief- 
maker, and Mr. Watson, who evidently wanted 
peace, would see her in the light of a person who 
broke up the peace of his house. It might be 
lier duty to live with these people ; but, for her own 
comfort, she had better go away — somewhere — • 
and take Bob! No, she could not do that. She 
would go alone — out into the world! She saw 
herself, as in a picture, wandering about, and per- 
liaps dying in a snow-storm, on the steps of a 
brownstone house, with Alice and Inez and every- 
body looking at her pathetic face, and saying that 
they were sorry ! Tears came to her eyes as she 
saw all this ; and, then, the angels would bear 

her up— or, perhaps they would A glance at 

her ‘‘Following of Christ” restored her to com- 
mon-sense. Her little book lay open, and as 
usual, she read the first passage on which lier eye 
fell. It is in the chapter called “ A Peaceful 
Man:” 

“ It is no gieat thing to be able to converse 
with them that are good and meek, for this is 


THE BOY OF THE WATER-LILIES AGAIN. 91 

naturally pleasing to all. And every one would 
willingly have peace and love those best that 
agree with them. 

But to live peacefully with those tliat are 
harsh and perverse, or disorderly, or such as oppose 
us, is a great grace, and highly commendable and 
manly.” 

So she must stay. “ Manly ” meant womanly ” 
too, in this case. In the story-books, when a girl 
came among people wdio did not like her, she al- 
ways taught them to love her in a very short time. 
They discovered her good qualities and admired 
her because she sang or played or read better than 
they. These cousins of hers seemed different, — 
they were certainly different from anybody she had 
met in story-books or in real life. They were not 
exactly “ harsh,” or ‘‘ perverse,” or disorderly ; ” 
but it certainly would not be easy to live with 
them ; yet she must stay, and do her best. 

There was a dim light in the drawing-room, 
which was long and narrow, with a polished floor, 
on which, in summer, no rugs were allowed to lie. 
Only one of the burners in the chandelier was lit. 
Amalie made her way to the bay-window. The 
heat had abated, and a cool bi^eeze blew from the 


92 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


south. The dome rose in the soft moonlight, 
white, resplendent, the symbol of a nation’s prayer. 
Amelie almost forgot her worry in the beauty of 
the scene. She went to the piano and softly sang 
‘‘ Die Lorelei,”- -very softly, for she did not want 
anybody to hear her. 

‘‘ Ich weiss nicht was soli, es bedeuten, 

Dass ich so traurig bin.” 

The melody comforted her. She was lost in it. 
Suddenly a child’s voice below the window aroused 
lier. 

“ Fraiilein, what for you always play ‘ Die 
Lorelei ? ” 

Amalie went to the window. A small boy, 
wearing an odd little cap, stood within the small 
inclosure that was called “ the lawn.” 

‘‘ Because I like it,” said Amalie, composedly, 
‘‘ and because somebody I like very much taught 
it to me.” 

‘‘ And I also ! ” said the boy. “ It is odd if you 
do not the German language speak also ? ” 

“ I wish I could speak the German language, 
but I can’t. I can only sing some songs in Ger- 
man.” 

“ Ach, so — so 1 ” 


THE BOY OF THE WATER-LILIES AGAIN. 93 

What is your name ? ” 

‘‘ Heinrich.” 

Amfelie touched the piano again, and sang very 
softly the first stanza of the song. 

“ It is schon ^ — so schon. Did you ever meet my 
sister ? Ach, no ! What am I saying ? She is 
dead — more than two years ago. We came from 
Germany. But — may I come some time to 
listen ? I will bring you water-lilies when I go 
out to the pond. And I thank you! My sister 
sung ‘ Die Lorelei,’ so often I It was good to hear 
her I Good-by, — I must go ! ” 

And the little figure, in the queer blouse and 
cap, stepped into the darkness. 

The episode made Amelie forget herself. Who 
was the boy? When Bob came in for his usual 
game of checkers before bed-time, he informed her 
that it was doubtless the same boy who had, one 
afternoon, left water-lilies at the door. 


94 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XVI. 

ON THE TERRACE. 

If Amelie had hoped that she and her cousins 
might soon be friends, she was disappointed. At 
breakfast, the day after Inez Fawcett’s visit, they 
scarcely spoke to her. Mrs. Watson appeared to 
be very nervous. She endeavored to make up for 
her daughters’ coldness by filling Amalie’s plate 
with waffles and making her eat two poached eggs. 
Bob was full of a picnic he had secretly planned 
for a long time. Clara and Alice were at first the 
sole repositories of this great project, but gradu- 
ally, he had, under the strictest pledges of secrecy, 
confided to twelve different persons, including 
their neighbor, Belinda Murray, although Bob 
ruefully said that ‘‘she could never hold her 
tongue.” 

It was a great relief for Amalie to get away 
from her cousins for her usual walk on the terrace 
of the Capitol. She loved this walk in that beam 


ON THE TERRACE. 


95 


tiful place. The view of Pennsylvania was 
obscured by the foliage-laden trees, which made 
the surrounding grounds a bower of varied shades 
of green. The glossy magnolias and the various 
species of oak, with a great black-walnut tree, were 
Amalie’s specia^l friends. This morning, heavy- 
hearted as she was, — for Amelie wanted to be loved 
by everybody, — the blue sky and the waving trees 
gave her some consolation. Besides, there were 
two letters in her hand, given her by the postman 
just as she left the house. She sat down on the 
stone coping about the oblong plant beds on the 
terrace and looked at her beloved letters. The writ- 
ing on one was Susan’s. She knew the sliaky sprawl- 
ing hand ; she herself had taught Susan to write. 
The other was in Miss Von Otto’s elegant manner. 
She opened Susan’s first. 

“Dear Chile,” it ran. “We offers our prayers 
for you every day. The cliildren are all well. 
The watermelons in our patch aie as red as beets 
when you open them. Your crape-myrtle tree is 
in bloom ; it always done bloom when the water- 
melons come. Don’t catch cold. Be careful what 
you eat in Washington. The cullud trash don’t 


96 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


know how to cook there. The fambly sends love. 
The grapes will soon be ripe ; you must hab some. 

‘‘ Your ole mammy, 

‘‘ Susan.” 

Amelie laughed. It was just like Susan — dear 
old Susan ! She wasn’t stylish, like Inez Faw- 
cett ; she could scarcely read or write ; but she 
could be a better friend. Dear old Susan ! 

“My dear Amelie:” Miss Von Otto wrote. 
“ You are, I trust, still singing your German songs 
with the accent — the real Hanoverian accent I 
tauglit you. That one, ‘ Die Lorelei,’ is very dear 
to me. My little brother loved it so. After the 
dear mother’s death I used to sing him to sleep 
with it. The night before the shipwreck I sang 
it to him. I have talked to you so often about it ! 
He was a big boy — dear little Heinrich ! — he 
thought ; but, big as he was, he always wanted to 
hear mother’s lullaby before he slept. Nobody 
dreamt of accident, though there was a fog. There 
is always a fog off Newfoundland. I had just left 
him to go on deck when the crash came. I must 
have fainted, for I was wounded slightly by a fall- 
ing plank. I awoke, to find myself in a boat, with 


ON THE TERRACE. 


97 


many other people. The steamer had gone down. 
Of twenty-four persons in our boat, none had 
heard of my dear boy. Since then, nobody has 
heard of him. Is he dead? Everybody tells me 
he is dead. If he is dead, he is with the good 
children about our Lord, for he was a good child. 
He had, dearest Amelia, made his First Com- 
munion. But something in my heart tells me 
that he lives. You will travel much to big cities, 
while I, for years to come, will teach my pupils 
far away from crowds. I send you a photograph 
of my little brother. If you should ever see him, 
— oh, how foolish I am ! But here is the picture 
for you, dear heart ; for, of course, you will never 
see him on earth. And yet the dear Lord can do 
all things ! His Mother found Him in the Temple 
after her long search. And I may find the boy ! 
If I knew he was dead and with God, I would 
not weep ; but to fear that he may be with bad 
men. Amalie, my dear, it maddens me — the 
thought ! 

Auf wiedersehen ! Write, dear child ; ah, if 
you should meet my boy in the great city ! Par- 
don my foolishness. Be simple and kind, my 
dear, and pray much. Auf iviedersehen ! 

7 


98 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Amalie’s eyes were moist when she had finished 
this. She did not open the thin square packet 
the letter contained, but thrust it into the net baof 
she carried in the mornings. She would look at 
the picture later. How quickly all small troubles 
vanish when one meets with a great one, she 
thought. And Miss Von Otto’s sorrow made all 
the petty things that had annoyed her seem very 
small. What did the lawn-party, Inez Fawcett’s 
haughtiness, her cousins’ coldness, matter, in com- 
parison with a loss like her friend’s ? 

“ I wish I could help her ! ” she said aloud, 
fervently. ‘‘ I wish I could help her I ” 


BELINDA. 


99 


XVII. 

BELINDA. 

Help who ? — I mean ‘ whom ? ’ ” — said a voice 
beliind her. 

Amelie turned. Behind her, her hands full of 
wild carrot blossoms and sprays of the clematis 
virginiana, was a girl of about fourteen years of age, 
who had very merry, sparkling bright eyes. Her 
hair was almost yellow; it hung down her back 
in one long braid, tied with red ribbon ; she wore 
a blue lawn frock and a red Cuban felt hat. 

“You don’t know me? but I’m your neighbor, 
all the same. I’m Belinda Murray.” 

“ I am very glad to see you,” said Amelie, ris- 
ing. “ I have heard your name mentioned.” 

“ You didn’t hear any good of me. I’m sure of 
answered Belinda. “The Watson girls 
don’t like me. Of course, I’m only a little girl, 
while they’re young ladies. Oh, my ! I’d give a 
hollow laugh, if I could. If my name was ‘ Mae,’ 


Lore. 


100 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


or ‘ Edythe,’ and I wore long skirts, they’d be 
different. There’s only one in that family, and 
that’s Bob. Arthur wasn’t bad, but he never let 
you forget that he was going to West Point.” 

I never lieard anybody speak unkindly of 
you,” Amalie said, gently. I am sure my 
cousins would not.” 

‘‘ Oh, wouldn’t they ? ” said Belinda, smiling. 
“ Bless you, they’re the stuck-up-edest girls! I 
don’t see how you get on with them. Why, 
Clara’s only my age, but she wears long frocks — 
oh, yes ! — whenever slie can, and a ‘rat’ in her 
hair. Now, I play with dolls — sometimes ! ” added 
Belinda, evidently expecting to see Amelie turn 
pale. 

“ So do I,” said Amalie, laughing. “ I have one 
in my trunk.” 

“ I knew I’d like you,” said Belinda. “ I saw 
you pass our house in an automobile. Bob said 
you were awfully rich because you rode in an 
automobile.” 

Amelie laughed. 

“ I couldn’t help it ; — I am not rich at all.” 

“ No ? ” Belinda paused. “ It’s strange what 
ideas we'get. Now, when I was younger I thought 


BELINDA. 


101 


only rich people had. gold in their teeth. Do you 
really play with dolls sometimes? What sort of 
a doll have you in your trunk ? ” 

‘‘ A Parisian doll. A dear friend gave it to me. 
I’ll show it to you.” 

Belinda smiled. “ You are a dear ! Do you 
know Inez Fawcett?” 

Amalie’s face changed. The name brought her 
into another world. 

“ Yes.” 

Another stuck-up. Your cousins like her be- 
cause she is-stylish. She was the first girl in school 
to wear a silk skirt, — she needn’t put on airs. I 
knew her when she wore short dresses. She isn’t 
even a graduate ! ” 

‘‘ You mustn’t talk about people that way, my 
dear.” 

“ The idea of your talking to me that way,” said 
Belinda, her bright eyes fixed on Amalie. “ I can 
see by your face that you are only trying to like 
Inez Fawcett and your cousins. If it weren’t 
a secret, I’d tell you all about Bob’s picnic. 
Oh, — are you going to hear me sing at Mrs. 
Brewer’s?” 

‘‘ No.” 


102 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Belinda looked at Amelie sharply ; she had very 
keen eyes. 

Grandmamma doesn’t know Mrs. Brewer; but 
as I’m the only girl in town just now that can sing 
a part in ‘ La Petite BergSre,’ my music teacher 
wants me to do it. I have three tickets. Don’t 
you want to go ? ” 

No, thankyou.” Amelie looked into Belinda’s 
frank, kindly face. A thought came to her, and a 
flush stole over her face. Belinda, I know some 
persons who do.” 

‘‘ Suppose you take the tickets then. It’s not 
an invitation affair ; really, you can give your tickets 
to anybody. Grandmamma can’t go, — I’m going 
with Mrs. Holliwell, — she’s a great friend of your 
aunt’s.” 

‘‘ Thank you. But, Belinda, I want the tickets 
for my cousins.” 

Belinda frowned. 

‘‘ Oh, let Inez Fawcett take ihemr 

“ I know that I shouldn’t ask a favor on sucli 
a short acquaintance, but ” 

Oh, I like you ! You’ll really show me your 
doll?” 

Amalie nodded. 


BELINDA. 


103 


‘‘ Here are the tickets ! ” Belinda drew two 
white envelopes from a capacious pocket in her 
frock. 

‘‘I must ask another favor. Will you send 
them yourself ? ” 

Belinda frowned. 

‘‘ You don’t know how airified they are to me 
sometimes. I’d hate to do it.” 

Amalie was silent for a moment. ‘‘ I think,” she 
said, that they would be more pleased to get them 
from you than from me.” 

“Z don’t want to please them. But I’ll send 
them.” 

Belinda,” said Amalie, “ I’ll not only show 
you the doll, — I’ll give it to you. It not only 
talks, but it has fifteen dresses in a cunning 
little box.” 

Belinda sat down on the coping, and stared at 
Amelie. 

“ Honest ? ” 

“ Honest ! ” 

“ Glory ! I’ll not only send the cards by our 
boy as soon as I get home, but Til write ‘ Miss 
Aliys Watson ’ on the envelope. I hate to do it ; 
it will set her up so much ; — but I’m not a girl to 


104 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


do a thing by halves. When will you show me the 
doll ? ” 

“This afternoon. I’m going with my uncle to 
the Band Concert at half-past five, — do come before 
that.” 

“ I’m going too. Come to breakfast with me 
now.” 

“ I’ve had breakfast.” 

“ Too bad. You’re the kind of girl grand- 
mamma likes. She likes girls’ girls. Now I’m a 
boys’ girl. I can play base-ball ! ” 

“We played base-ball sometimes at the con- 
vent.” 

“ Not the nuns ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! What an idea ! ” 

“ I thought nobody but me liked base-ball. 
You’re not so old-timey as I thought. I’m the 
only girl. Fred’s at Annapolis. Grandmamma 
and I are all alone in the ’world.” 

“ Poor little girl ! ” Amalie said, involuntarily. 

Belinda looked startled and half-resentful ; but 
the softness of Amalie’s eyes disarmed her. She 
turned away. 

“ I am taking these flowers to a poor lady. I 
got them in the flelds. We help poor people 


BELINDA. 


105 


in our neighborhood, — you’ll have to join our circle. 
We’re going to have a good time on Saturday, — 
but it is a secret.” 

Am61ie smiled as she thought of Bob’s secrets. 
“ Let’s walk home together,” Belinda said. 


106 


THE WATSOX GIRLS. 


XVIII. 

RATHER violent! 

Amelie was in high good humor with herself 
when she entered her uncle’s house. She made 
out, in her mind, her programme for the forenoon. 
She would practise the scales and the “ Polka de 
la Reine” for an hour ; and then, for half an hour, 
Bach’s First Prelude. After that, she would read 
Schubert’s biography in “ The Great Composers,” 
and perhaps Beethoven’s. It would be pleasant 
to know something more of the composers of the 
music the Marine Band would play. What a 
lovely morning she could have ! Piano practise 
was hard — but music is such a good friend I she 
thought. Later, she could ask her aunt to let 
lier try a new dessert. Her cousins need not 
know anything about it — and Bob had promised 
to turn the ice-cream freezer for her. 

Belinda had graciously given her a bunch of 


RATHER VIOLENT. 


107 


clematis, and she went into the drawing-room to 
find a vase for it. 

Alice and Clara were lounging in the window 
seat. 

“ This city is the hottest place in the world 
just now ! ” Clara said. “I do wish we were out 
of it. Nothing pleasant to do ! ” 

‘‘ Bob’s picnic on Saturday,” said Alice, sar- 
castically. 

And the only pleasure we could have that 
girl has spoiled by quarrelling with Inez Fawcett. 
It’s too bad ! She’ll never come here again. And 
she’s so much ‘ in ’ everything. She’ll come ‘ out ’ 
this winter, and we’ll not be asked. But she 
wouldn’t ask any girls that don’t weaiTong frocks.” 

At this moment Amalie entered. 

“ Oh, it’s you ! ” said Alice. 

‘‘ Pardon me. May I have the Carlsbad vase 
for these flowers ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — certainly ; but I wonder that you 
have the impudence to speak to me after what 
you’ve done.” 

Amalie went to the chimney-piece, and stood 
with her back to her cousins. There were one or 
two sprays of clematis in the vase. She arranged 


108 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


the others. Her first impulse was to smash the 
vase, and then leave the house forever. She was 
not, by nature, gentle. She remained silent. 

“ You’ve turned our dearest friend from us, and 
spoiled the only pleasure we are likely to have 
this summer ! ” 

“ I did not mean — ” began Amalie. “ Alice, I 
am sure that your mother understands ” 

‘‘Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice. “You 
come here, in an automobile, just to show off, and 
make people believe you’re rich. You go on 
showing off, and you cut us out with Inez — and 
then you just spoil everything ! ” 

Amalie, restraining herself, continued to adjust 
the clematis. 

“ You won’t answer back, of course. We’re not 
worth notice ! ” put in Clara. 

Amalie bit her lip. 

“ I don’t see why you came here, anyway. If 
you were stylish, or took an interest in us, it 
would be different ; but you don’t ! ” said Clara. 
“We depended on Inez Fawcett; she’s the swell- 
est girl we know.” 

“ What can I do?” asked Amalie, facing them. 
“ I must stay here ; I have no home.” 


RATHER VIOLENT. 


109 


Clara was silent, startled. 

“ I am not a city girl ; I am not used to what 
you call ‘ style ’ in girls of our age. I am old- 
fashioned, I suppose ; but,” she added, bitterly, 
“ I don’t want to be like you. You pretend to 
love your father, but you don’t. You never help 
your mother. You grumble, you are discontented. 
You take what your father works for in ungrate- 
fulness. I’m not good, I know ; but I tried to 
make life happy for my dear father. You want to 
be rich and ‘swell,’ as you call it, when you ought 
to be only young girls, trying to be useful. Oh, 
you needn’t interrupt me. I’m not an ideal girl, 
I know it; but I’d sweep the streets all day 
rather than be like you — there, now ! ” 

Amalie walked out of the room into the hall, 
blind with anger. She almost fell over Belinda 
Murray, who was standing near the open door. 

“ Well, I never! ’’she said. “I really never! 
It was just what I’d like to tell the Watson girls 
myself, only I haven’t the gift. But I’ll go in 
for education, if it can help you to do that. Oh, 
my!” 

Amalie caught her by the arm. 

“ Belinda, little Belinda,” she said, beginning 


110 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


to cry. “ I’m a bad girl, and I’ve given you bad 
example. I can’t say any more — just now !” 

I thought I’d run in, after I gave the flowers 
to the poor lady, and drop the cards on the Wat- 
son girls. Say, you’ll be well enough to show me 
the doll this afternoon, won’t you? I wouldn’t 
let a little thing like this bother me ! ” 

Amelie had gone upstairs before she finished 
the last words. 

“ Dear me ! ” said Belinda, entering the draw- 
ing-room. ‘‘That’s what I call eloquence. It’s 
just what you girls ought to hear often. The 
whole neighborhood says the same thing, but you 
don’t hear it. Here are your old cards for Mrs. 
Brewer’s lawn-party. She made me do it ! ” 

Alice opened the envelope. 

“For us?” 

“ She asked me to give them to you. Mrs. 
Holliwell will take us all.” 

“ She ? ” asked Alice. 

“ Your cousin Amalie.” 

“ Belinda ! ” 

“ And she pays herself for it by insulting us ! ” 
said Clara. “We don’t want the cards ! ” 

“ All right ! ” said Belinda. “ I’ll take them 


RATHER VIOLENT. 


Ill 


back with pleasure. You ought to be ashamed to 
have such a nice cousin, and to treat her — like an 
animal. If you keep on everybody will hate you. 
I’ve always said that you were not so disagreeable 
as people said you were.” 

“ She asked you for these ? ” 

‘‘ I always tell the truth, Alice.” 

“ I don’t understand her.” 

“ You haven’t tried, — perhaps — well — I’ve said 
enough.” 

“ We’re much obliged,” said Alice, with a quick 
look at the angry Clara. ‘‘ Of course we’ll go.” 

I’ll go, too,” said Belinda. “I’ll just say this, 
though;— if you don’t want Amelie in your house, 
grandmamma and I will take her in.” 

Belinda arranged her red hat, — she had a habit 
of taking it off, as if she were a boy when she en- 
tered a house. “ If it weren’t against a text in 
the Testament, I’d say they were fools,” she mut- 
tered. 


112 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XIX. 


amelie’s temper. 

‘‘ I WILL not stand this ! ” said Amalie, sitting 
flushed and angry in her room. ‘‘ Oh, I wish God 
had given me a home ! Not four walls like this ! ” 
she added, looking scornfully around her room. 
“But a home! a home! — where people lived. 
People who have homes ought not to want any- 
thing else ! ” 

The little “ Following of Christ ” was open on 
her table. She knew the words, marked with the 
slender blue ribbon, by heart : 

“ It is no great thing to be able to converse with 
them that are good and meek * for this is naturally 
pleasing to all. And everyone would willingly have 
peace., and love those best that agree with him. 

“ But to live peacefully with those that are 
harsh and perverse., or disorderly., or such as op- 
pose us., is a great grace ” 


amelie’s temper. 


113 


The reproach went to her heart. She had fallen 
below all her good resolutions. On the last Sun- 
day at Communion it had seemed as if she could 
never lose her temper or be unkind or uncharita- 
ble, — her fervor had been so intense. Three days 
had passed ; she had broken all her best resolutions. 
She had unpacked, the day before, a miniature of 
Dolci’s “ Ecce Homo.” The little brass filagree 
doors in front of it were open. The eyes, — the 
sorrowful eyes, — seemed to follow her. 

“ You had no home,” she said, ‘‘ and yet you 
did not forget.” 

She looked around the room ; she went to the 
window. The great dome of the Capitol was 
strong, resplendent, and the blue sky seemed to be 
bending to bless it. Surely, she ought to hope. 
What had she done ? She had spoken insulting 
words to her cousins in their own house. She had 
reminded them of their duties while failing to re- 
member her own, — while breaking her promises to 
God. 

“ Let them take it ! ” she said, with a renewed 
flash of anger. Why can’t they try to be nice to 
me ? I hate the very ground they walk on ! Oh, 

Susan, — your little house, and the sunflowers and 

8 


114 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


the hollyhocks are more to me than this beautiful 
place. Nobody loves me but you ! ” 

She caught again the reproachful eyes of the 
Ecce Homo.” Turning abrupity, her eyes fell 
upon the other picture of the Sorrowful Mother. 
She could not escape God. 

“ What shall I do ? What shall I do ? ” 

Miss Von Otto would have said, ‘‘Work; ” Sis- 
ter Angela would have said, “ Pray.” She knelt a 
moment, and then, opening the piano, began Bach’s 
First Prelude. 

A half hour passed. In the meantime Belinda 
had been enjoying herself very much in the draw- 
ing-room. 

“ Yes,” she had said, composedly, “ you would 
not have had the tickets, if she hadn’t asked for 
them. I never come to see you, you know, — I 
come to see Bob. I know that I’m not a young 
lady ; I don’t expect to wear long dresses for ages^ 
but that’s no reason why you should always snub 
me.” 

Alice was embarrassed. She was pleased to re- 
ceive the tickecs, and Belinda’s words had more 
weight than they would usually have had. 

“ I expected more from Catholics,” Belinda 


amelie’s temper. 


115 


went on. “ When you moved into this neighbor- 
hood, I expected to find you better than other 
girls. My aunt was a Catholic, and she was 
kinder even than grandmamma; but you’re not 
up to what I expected — there ! Clara tells lies 
as fast as other girls ! ” 

Clara blushed. 

‘‘ Belinda, stop ! It’s not true ! ” 

“ I heard you say that Alice’s last winter’s coat 
was sent from Paris, and it cost ever so muclj, 
and that you were not going away because your 
father had ordered all your next winter’s things 
from London ! I heard you tell Inez Fawcett 
that, when I was practising ‘ Whispering Hope ’ 
with Alice.” 

Clara lowered her eyes. 

I call that story-telling. Besides, people find 
out. I w^ent with grandmamma to the Children’s 
Mass at your church once, and the priest said that 
young people should be truthful and simple. 
Your cousin- is simple and kind; she made me 
give you those tickets. She’d love you very much 
if you’d let her. I wish I had a sister like her ! 
Grandmamma said, ‘You pattern after the Wat- 
son girls ; they’re very religious, you know.’ Oh, 


116 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


my ! I just said to her, ‘ If I patterned after 
them, I’d be a Terrible Example.’ That’s the 
truth ! ” 

Clara said nothing ; she was ashamed. 

There was something wistful about Belinda’s 
expression, even when she said her worst. Alice, 
for the first time, felt that she was unworthy. 

“ Belinda,” she said, rather awkwardly, “ I will 
tell you a secret, for I want to be friends with 
you, and a better girl. Bob is going to have a 
picnic on Saturday. Will j^ou come?” 

“ Why, he told me' not to tell you ! ” Belinda 
exclaimed. Then they all laughed ; and Clara 
hurried out of the room. 

Amfelie heard a soft knock at her door. 

“ Come in ! ” she called. 

“ Amelie,” said Clara, “ I am very sorry.” 

Amalie jumped up from the piano-stool. She 
faced her cousin in surprise. 

“ I am more sorry than you. Oh, Clara, I do 
want you to love me so much ! ” 

And so the storm passed. 


SOME MUSIC. 


117 


XX. 

SOME MUSIC. 

Bob carried a camp-stool over to the Capitol 
grounds for his father, who came home from the 
office very tired. Alice was gentler to Amalie, 
and Clara walked to the East F rout of the Capitol 
arm-in-arm with her. Mrs. Watson was busy 
with the girls’ frocks for Mrs. Beaver’s lawn- 
party, so she could not join them. 

Stand next to papa ; he likes to talk to you,” 
said Clara, when the band had finished the over- 
ture to Verdi’s “Macbeth.” 

“ Did you hear the witches’ cry ? ” asked Amalie, 
delighted with the music. 

“ Was it the witches’ cry ? ” asked Mr. Watson, 
amused. “ I’ll have to read about Verdi, to find 
out. What’s next?” 

“ A Sousa march,” said Bob. “ I hate Chopin 
and that sort of fellows. Where’s Belinda?’^ 


118 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


I don’t see her,” answered Amalie ; she 
promised to come early.” 

“ Three cheers for Sousa ! I wish it was all 
Sousa, though Mr. Santelmann writes music just 
as stirring, too. Some people think it’s better than 
Sousa’s.” 

The steps of the Capitol were crowded with men, 
women and children- — all silent, expectant, as the 
leader raised his baton. Strolling groups crossed 
and re-crossed the green sward. Here and there, a 
colored boy cut a pigeon-wing, or threw a somersault. 
There were occasional bursts of laughter from the 
fringe of the promenading crowds, and at times too 
much talking, at which Mr. Watson frowned. The 
‘‘ King Cotton Marcli ” was played with great ac- 
curacy and dash. It was much applauded. Then 
came a selection from Rossini’s “ Otello.” 

Alice and Clara, standing near their father, 
listened with interest, instead of, as was their 
habit, commenting superciliously on the costumes 
of the stay-at-homes ” at the concert. 

“ What was it they played the second time ? ” 
asked Alice. 

“ An aria from Gluck’s ‘ Orfeo,’ ” said Mr. 
Watson. 


SOME MUSIC. 


119 


‘‘ This is so different from that,” said Alice. 

‘‘This ‘Otello’ music is more like Wagner’s 
‘ Tannhauser ’ music than it is like Gluck’s. 
Gluck was Marie Antoinette’s favorite composer. 
Music has changed in the last hundred years — 
especially operatic music. Rossini’s ‘ Otello ’ 
helped to change things. Rossini prepared the 
orchestra for Wagner by adding all the new in- 
struments ; for, before his time, the orchestra had 
been made up mostly of strings.” 

“ Strings ! ” exclaimed Bob, in amazement. 

“ I mean stringed instruments,” explained his 
father. 

“Yes, I know,” said Amalie, much interested. 
“ I remember that Madame de Guerin told me a 
story about that. Sigismondi was a composer of 
the old school. He was once, with Donizetti, then 
a young student, at the Neapolitan Conservatory, 
and Donizetti wanted to look at the score of 
‘ Otello.’ Sigismondi groaned when he saw the 
number of instruments Rossini had used. ‘ A 
hundred and twenty-three trombones ! ’ he groaned 
— ‘ a hundred and twenty-three trombones ! ’ ‘You 
are mistaken, Maestro,’ Donizetti said ; ‘ the score 
calls for first, second and third trombones — not a 


120 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


hundred and twenty- three trombones!' But 
Sigismondi rushed away, calling out in horror, 
‘ A hundred and twenty-three trombones I ” 

They all laughed. 

‘‘ Really,” whispered Clara, ‘‘I shall try to find 
music more interesting. I never thought there 
were stories about it, or that one composer had 
anything to do with another. 

The music began again. 

“ Oh, here’s Belinda I ” cried Bob, just as the 
last soft strain of Schubert’s “ Serenade ” died 
away. Belinda was flushed ; she swung her red 
cap in her left hand ; she looked as if she had 
been crying. 

“ I couldn’t come for the doll,” she said. ‘‘But 
I’ll go home with you, after the music. The 
Ogress caught me ! ” 

“ She means her music teacher ! ” cried Bob, 
almost bending double over this delicious epithet, 
“ Belinda’s a peach I She says such funny things.” 

The concert ended with “Hail Columbia,” 
when six more musical compositions had been 
played. 

“ Well, I’ve enjoyed myself,” Mr. Watson said. 
“ Girls, I am much obliged to you — and ; Bob, 


SOME MUSIC. 


121 


it was very kind of you to think of the camp- 
stool.” 

‘‘Amalie thought of it,” Bob said; ‘‘but, papa. 
I’ll think of it every time, after this.” 

“ Why do you like music so much? ” asked Mr. 
Watson, addressing Amalie. 

“ I think I learned to like it by attending High 
Mass.” 

“ And you really like to go to Mass? My girls 
are always glad when it’s over.” 

“ My father showed me how beautiful the Mass 
is. He said that, even if he were not a Catholic, 
that he would go to Mass, because it was the 
flower of all worship ; because the heart, the mind, 
the senses, are all elevated. He said that — dear 
father!” 

Mr. Watson was silent. 

“ Girls,” he said, if you will take me to Mass 
next Sunday, I’ll try to find out whether my 
brother was right. Will you take me, Clara?” 

“Of course we will!” said Clara, delighted; 
for she and Alice prayed every night and morning 
that their father might be drawn nearer to God. 

After dinner, Belinda went to Amfelie’s room ; 
she explained the cause of her detention. 


122 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ The Ogress is Mrs. Jacques, 3'OU know. She 
came just as I was going to see the doll ! ‘You’ll 
learn how to make a courtesy for the party,’ says 
she. ‘I won’t,’ says I. ‘ People in society expect 
good manners,’ says slie. ‘A low bow is “ old- 
timey,” ’ says I. ‘You’ll do it all the same,’ says 
she. I was as awkward as I could be. She tried 
and tried. At last she stopped, and said she’d 
come to-morrow ; and grandmamma called out 
from her room that I was impudent to her — 
Ogress ! ” 

“ Don’t say ‘ Ogress ; ’ don’t call nicknames. 
Don’t — please, Belinda ! You’ve been so good to- 
day. You made Cousin Clara be very good to 
me because you were kind about the tickets.” 

“ Did I ? ” said Belinda, pleased. “ I am so 
used to being called bad that I’m surprised when 
I’m good. If you want me to. I’ll surprise myself 
some more.” 

“ When you’ve seen the doll. I’ll teach you 
how to courtesy. We learned it at the convent. 
Who knows, you may be presented at Court some 
day ! ” 

Belinda giggled. 

“ Where’s the doll ? ” 


SOME MUSIC. 


123 


Amalie lit the gas-burners, and opened the box 
that enclosed the precious doll. 

“ Oh ! ” she said ; and again — 

‘‘ Oh ! ” and again — 

Oh ! ” 

Mademoiselle Bluette was a wonder of a doll. 
She was three feet high ; her eyes were blue, 
shaded by brown lashes ; her cheeks were softly 
pink; her lips of the red of the berries of the 
briar rose ; her hair was real ; it curled ; it was 
tied in a knot on the top of her head by crimson 
ribbon. 

‘‘Bluette has a ribbon for every costume,” said 
Amelia. “ This goes with her red cashmere tea- 
gown.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Belinda. 

The arms of Mademoiselle Bluette were of kid ; 
they could be moved by a spring ; her eyes opened 
and closed ; she could speak ; her voice was not 
agreeable, but it was distinct. 

“ Papa,” she said. 

“ Oh ! ” Belinda said. 

“ Mamma,” she said. 

“ She talks as plain as a cat ! ” said Belinda, ab- 
sorbed. “ I mean her voice is like a kitten’s.” 


124 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Hats with plumes, bonnets with flowers, white 
and black gloves, a fan and a parasol, and all the 
various things that make up the wardrobe of a doll 
from Paris were displayed. 

‘‘ I never saw anything like it,” said Belinda. 
“ I may be too big to play with dolls,” she added, 
“ but that doll will always be big enough to play 
with me ! And it’s all mine ! ” 

‘‘ All yours.” 

Belinda looked almost awe-stricken. 

‘‘ Teach me to courtesy,” she said, eagerly. “I’ll 
do anything for you, even try to please the Ogr — : — 
I mean Mrs. Jacques.” 


ON THE POTOMAC. 


125 


XXL 

ON THE POTOMAC. 

“ Le Miracle des Roses ” was performed ; 
Alice and Clara went to the party, in their best 
frocks and hats, with Mrs. Holliwell. Inez Faw- 
cett took no notice of them ; Belinda sang her part, 
made a very graceful courtesy, and ate two plates 
of ice-cream. So far as Alice and Clara were con- 
cerned, the entertainment was a failure. The few 
young persons they knew avoided “ the Watson 
girls ” because they had not taken the trouble to 
be polite to anybody but Inez Fawcett. 

“ Our white dresses are as pretty as anybody’s 
here,” Alice had said. “ The embroidery on Inez’s 
is not so fine as ours.” 

“ But poor mother is very tired to-day,” said 
Clara. I don’t think the whole thing is worth 

“ Amelie’s spoiling you,” answered Alice, 
crossly. “You’ll find yet that her goodness is 


126 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


only on the surface. I wouldn’t have her temper 
for the world.” 

“ I wish I were home,” said Clara, refusing the 
orange ice the servant offered. ‘‘ It’s all very 
pretty, but nobody speaks to us. I feel as if I had 
no right here, — I mean no right here because mother 
is working so hard at home.” 

“ Amelie’s nonsense ! ” sneered Alice. 

At home everybody was at that moment very 
industrious; but Mrs. Watson was directing the 
work, while Amalie and Bob acted as her agents. 

All the preparations for the picnic were con- 
cluded. Bob revealed the secret as solemnly as if 
there had really ever been a secret. Twelve per- 
sons were to be of the party. All Bob’s Fourth 
of July money, — which he had not spent because 
he was ill, — was to pay for lemonade and cakes 
and pies, and cold chicken and ham ; — a big turtle 
had been presented to him by Jack White, whose 
father had caught it, — an enormous green 
turtle. This was for soup, and Bob had ar- 
ranged for corn, potatoes, onions, and all 
sorts of vegetables at the Point. The Point 
was a shady place, with a sparkling fern-rimmed 
spring, not far from Chief J ustice Marshall’s house 


ON THE POTOMAC. 127 

on the Potomac. The steamer touched at Mar- 
shall Hall, and the Point,” — so named by Bob — 
was only a short distance from this historic place, 
but hidden from view by oaks and beeches of many 
years’ growth. Mrs. Watson said, in spite of all 
entreaties, that she was too busy to go ; — so the 
indefatigable Mrs. Holliwell, a widow, devoted to 
children, was to act as chaperon. The party, ex- 
cept Mrs. Holliwell, Jack White and Belinda, 
were Catholics ; so Bob’s programme, annotated by 
Amelie, included Mass at seven o’clock. Mark 
and Mrs. White’s negro boy were to drive to tlie 
boat with a big tin boiler for the soup, and all 
the rest of the necessaries, so that the minds 
of everybody else could be entirely free from 
care. 

The trip on the Potomac was delightful. Jack 
White, a tall, solemn, silent boy, stood on the upper 
deck with Amelie, and explained the sights in 
monosyllables. 

Alexandria,” he said. 

“George Washington went to church there,” 
explained his friend, a short, but talkative, boy, 
Wallace Roche, who would lean over the railing 
in a way that frightened Amfelie. 


128 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ There’s a cloud over there ! ” called out one of 
the Golden twins. 

“ That Marie Golden is always making trou- 
ble ! ” cried Bob. ‘‘ She just wants to spoil my 
picnic.” 

“ But there is a tiny cloud over there,” said 
Clementine Golden, who always agreed with her 
sister. 

“ If there is, it is not polite to see it,” answered 
Bob, ill an injured tone. ‘‘ If it was the Goldens’ 
picnic. I’d try to see the sun, if it was raining 
pitchforks.” 

Where’s Georgetown College ? Papa went 
there to school. Where is it?” asked Amelie, 
eagerly. 

‘'Over there; you can’t see it well by this 
route,” said Wallace Roche. “You can see it 
quite plainly from the Norfolk boat.” 

“When are we going to eat?” sang out Willie 
Golden, who was not a twin. 

“ Greedy ! ” said Bob. “ Why can’t you behave 
like a gentleman? We’ve got to admire the 
scenery before we eat. That’s the proper thing.” 

“ Mount Vernon ! Mount Vernon ! ” cried 
everybody, after some time had gone by, during 


ON THE POTOMAC. 


129 


which Mrs. Holliwell had been obliged to feed 
the minority with ham sandwiches. 

The peaceful lawn and white-columned porch 
of Washington’s modest house stood out, bright 
and clear, beyond the yellow stream. Bob took 
off his hat. All the other boys, did the same, 
except Willie Golden, whose mouth was full, as 
well as his hands. This prevented him from 
singing “ The Star Spangled Banner,” which 
Belinda struck up. 

Amalie was silent. A feeling of deep rever- 
ence was upon her. Had the great President 
really looked, with his own eyes on the very river 
and banks on which she was looking? Was it 
possible that he and Mistress Washington had 
walked on that porch, entered their house by that 
door ? How strange it was ! How hard to believe I 

“ There’s a garden over there,” said Clara. 

Somebody told me that some rose-bushes planted 
by Nellie Curtis are still there.” 

“ Oh, how delightful ! ” exclaimed Amalie, her 
cheeks flushing. “ And some day I shall actually 
enter that house myself?” 

“ Wlienever you want to go,” said Mrs. II ' 
well, amused. “ Now, boys, we’ll sing ‘ Dixie ! ’ ” 
9 


130 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


The tune was given with a will. Then Belinda 
began “Whispering Hope,” and Alice took the 
second part — 

“ Soft as the voice of an angel 
Breathing a whisper unheard.” 

“ That reminds me of ‘ Die Lorelei,’ ” Amdlie 
said, her eyes smiling on the happy group, in 
which Alice alone seemed, distant and stiff. “Let 
us sing that.” Nobody knew the German words, 
so she sang it alone. 

A head slowly appeared above the stairway that 
leads to the upper deck of the steamboat. Grad- 
ually, the head advanced higher and higher. It 
was the head of a little boy, wearing a tight black 
cap. He seemed entranced by the music. When 
Amelie had finished, he jumped on the deck. 

“ Oh, schdn — lieblich ! ” he cried. 

Everybody laughed. He seemed to be so solemn, 
and yet so pleased ; and his long blue blouse and 
black cap made him seem very quaint. 

“ A little German boy-,” said Amalie, laughing, 
too. “ And he likes ‘ Die Lorelei I’ ” 

But that funny little figure could not be Miss 
Von Otto’s brother. Amalie wished tliat she had 
not forgotten to look at the photograph Miss Von 


ON THE POTOMAC. 


131 


Otto had sent ; but Belinda’s sudden appearance 
on the morning she had received it had quite put 
it from her mind. 

“ Bis ! Bis ! ” said the German boy, taking off 
his cap and bowing to Amelie, not at all embar- 
rassed by the laughter. Perhaps he was used 
to it. 

‘‘ It’s the boy who gave us the water-lilies ! ” 
exclaimed Clara. 

The very boy ! ” said Alice, interested. 

‘‘ Bis ! ” repeated the boy. 

“ Ja, mein herr ! ” she cleai ed her throat, and be- 
gan “ Die Loi'elei ” again, while Belinda improvised 
a very hai'inonious accompaniment with her lips. 

‘‘ I thank you — and everybody,” said the boy, 
with a bow that made Belinda envious. He went 
below, followed by three of the more curious 
children. 

‘‘ His name’s something German or other,” Wil- 
lie Golden said, returning. ‘‘He lives with a Ger- 
man farmer and takes care of the market produce 
the farmer sends to town every day. He’s a nice 
kind of a boy, and he gave me a peach. He went 
to the city at three o’clock this morning to market. 
He can whistle all sorts of tunes.” 


132 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘^Didn’t he tell you his father and mother’s 
name ? And did you ask him whether he had 
brothers or sisters ? Or how much wages the 
farmer gives liim?” asked Clara, sarcastically. 

“I forgot,” said Willie, regretfully, ‘‘but I’ll 
go down and ask him.” 

Tl)e boat touched the wharf ; the party, with 
much excitement and laughter, landed at Marshall 
Hall. 


THE WHISTLE. 


133 


XXII. 

THE WHISTLE. 

“ Dear me ! ” said Alice, impatiently, pulling her 
pink lawn skirt about her, ‘‘ some of these people 
are so rude ! And Bob has gone off with my para- 
sol, — my complexion will be ruined ! I wisli I 
hadn’t worn my patent leather slippers ; they pinch 
terribly. But a girl must look nice ! ” 

‘‘ Not if she wants to enjoy herself at a picnic,” 
said Belinda, who carried a large glass jar of lemon- 
ade ; her bright red felt hat was pushed to the side 
of her head as usual. 

Alice looked very dainty and pretty, but unhappy. 
Her shoes were slight, and the path was covered with 
big pebbles and tough grass. Her much-ruffled 
pink frock had been rumpled slightly in passing 
through the crowd on the wharf, and her straw hat 
was adorned with such expensive La France roses 
that she was afraid the fierce sunlight would cause 
them to fade. 


134 : 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ Do hurry, Amalie,” she said. “ Let’s get into 
the shade. There’s that ugly German boy about to 
speak to you ! — Come on, — don’t notice him ! ” 

Amalie smiled and paused, detaining Alice 
gently. 

‘‘ Fraulein,” said the German boy, “I want to 
give this for thankfulness of your music.” 

He held his cap in his left hand, he presented 
her, with his right, a curious brass whistle shaped 
like a swan. 

“ Don’t take that trash ! ” said Alice. “ Come 
on ! ” 

‘‘ It is a good whistle. There is only one other 
like it. It is a fine thing,” said the boy seriously. 
“ The other whistle was made for my sister, who is 
dead in the sea. It is engraved with flowers.” 

Amelie thanked him. She took from her pocket- 
book a silver medal of Lourdes, and gave to him. 

“ Thank you, Fraulein,” he said. He picked up 
the big basket he had set down to speak to Amelie 
and disappeared. The whistle was exquisitely 
engraved with arabesques. Where had she seen 
it before and admired it? 

Why did you bring a shawl and that net bag 
of yours? Really, you are an object ! ” grumbled 


THE WHISTLE. 


135 


Alice. “ The idea of your being so polite to that 
boy. If you belonged to our circle for visiting 
the poor, you’d soon find out how impudent that 
set of people are. One girl I took some shoes to 
actually returned the call. I wish I had thrown 
the water-lilies in the face of that impudent boy ! ” 

Amalie had some difficulty in holding her 
tongue. 

The little procession winding towards the Point 
was preceded by Bob, who carried two great boxes 
of cake, protected by Alice’s pink parasol, from 
which hung two sunflowers. The twins came 
next, with a hamper of pies between them. After 
them walked Willie Golden, carrying a big bunch 
of very yellow bananas, followed by Jack White, 
with two big pineapples. There was an interval. 
Then followed Amalie, carrying Mrs. Holliwell’s 
shawl and the pepper, tea and sugar, which every- 
body else had forgotten. Alice walked, resplen- 
dent in pink lawn, with embroidery and rose-col- 
ored ribbons, but she walked with difficulty. 
Clara bore three long loaves of French bread tied 
with streamers of yellow tissue paper, and Jack 
White handled with care a big brown paper bag 
containing his mother’s famous deviled crabs. 


136 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


There were several stragglers ; then triumphantly 
came the black boys, with the turtle, the vegeta- 
bles, the ice-cream freezer. Jack White’s mandolin 
and Belinda’s guitar, mounted on two wheelbar- 
rows. Bob looked back at the procession, with 
great satisfaction. 

“ It’s the bossest picnic ! I wish papa and 
mamma were here to see it ! ” 

The Point was deep in ferns. The oaks were 
bound together by Virginia creepers and the cli- 
matis, while here and there a yellow-red, trumpet- 
shaped flower showed among the climbing green. 
The tall ferns were reflected in the crystal still- 
ness of the spring, and coolness and freshness 
made the spot delightful. 

“ It’s pleasant, but where am I to sit down, — it 
looks damp,” Alice said, drawing her delicate 
pink dress about her. Amelie meekly spread the 
shawl upon the ground, and Alice sank upon it. 

‘‘ Oh,” she wailed, suddenly, ‘‘I forgot the tea.” 

‘‘ It’s in this bag — this despised net bag,” said 
Amalie. 

I’m so glad ! I can’t live without tea.” 

The black boys began to prepare the material 
for green turtle soup, made after a manner of their 


THE WHISTLE. 


137 


own. The children gathered wood. And in half 
an hour the boiler was hung over a blazing fire, 
and the picnickers were jubilantly stirring the 
stew with newly-cut pine sticks. 

Amalie made herself very busy. At last the 
white tissue-paper cloth was laid and the varied 
colored paper napkins nicely arranged near the 
spring. Then she blew her whistle. It had a 
sweet, loud tone. She held it in her hand mus- 
ingly. Where had she seen one like it before ? 


138 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XXIII. 

THE RESCUE. 

Everything went well. To be sure, the twins 
fell into the spring, but they were carefully 
dried; and Jack White was supposed to have 
swallowed a wasp in a slice of pie ; but he was 
not sure of it. Alice grew very weary of the 
fun, because nobody paid her extraordinary atten- 
tion, and wandered away. She did not even come 
back for the cold supper. As she had taken a 
novel with her, she forgot all about her com- 
panions. As she was not, as a rule, particularly 
agreeable, they easily forgot her. 

Bob had stipulated that the party should remain 
for the last boat. The picnickers were dancing 
the Lancers in the moonlight, when the steamboat 
signal was heard. Time had fled so fast ! The 
colored boys had gone off, with the loaded wheel- 
barrows, so there was nothing left to carry except 


THE RESCUE. 


139 


the guitar and mandolin, to whose music the 
dance was proceeding. 

There was a scramble. Mrs. Holliwell hurried 
off with the younger ones ; the rest followed. 
Amalie had gone only a few steps when she re- 
membered Alice. She ran into the woods, calling. 
Th‘ere was no response. 

The moonlight whitened the spaces among tlie 
trees, and the swinging vine-garlands and waving 
leaves made delicate moving embroidery on the 
silvered ground. 

‘‘ Alice ! ” 

Amelie was desperate. The signal from the 
steamboat sounded again. 

‘‘Where are Alice and Amalie?” demanded 
Mrs. Holliwell, when all her other charges had 
been gathered on the upper deck. 

“ They’ll take care of themselves,” answered 
Bob, sleepily. “I saw Amalie coming, and there’s 
a pink dress like Alice’s over there near the 
wheel.” 

Again the warning note was sounded. The 
searchlight was turned from the pilot-house upon 
the banks. It lit up the barge in front of them 
so well that the children applauded. 


140 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“I suppose those girls are all right; I’ll look 
for them, anyhow,” said Mrs. Holliwell, as yet 
not at all anxious. 

The steamboat glided from the wharf. 

In the shadows, Amalie heard the signal again. 

No ; she would not go without Alice. 

‘‘ Alice ! ” 

No answer. 

Amelie saw, by the brilliant searchlight sud- 
denly cast upon her, that she was near the river. 
Through a vine-curtained opening in the trees, 
she saw, too, the steamboat moving towards the 
city. 

‘‘ Bob, oh. Bob ! ” she called, frightened. “ Stop, 
stop ! ” 

Only echoes came back, though she could hear 
the movement of the steamboat’s wheels in the 
water. A breath of tlie perfume of the late honey- 
suckle seemed to bring her to her senses. Slie 
was in the woods ; it was night, but God was 
near. She must not be frightened, and she must 
find Alice ! 

Silence fell. There was a lull in all sounds. 
The frogs, in the distance, took up their chorus, 
and a cricket chirped. What was that? The 


THE RESCUE. 


Ill 


sound came from the river bank. Amalie shrank 
back in the shadow. She tried to make herself 
believe that her fears were foolish. She remem- 
bered that, when she was a child, she used to 
think that the round-backed mahogany chairs in 
her mother’s room were lions. They were not 
lions ; it was only the darkness. It was only tlie 
darkness that made her afraid now ! Again came 
the sound — not of the frogs or the crickets ; it was 
a low moan. 

Boldly Amelie advanced to the bank of the 
river and looked down. The water was low — the 
depth seemed great. 

“ Alice ! ” 

A moan was the response. 

About twelve feet below the top of the bank 
Alice Watson lay — a heap of crumpled pink, her 
large, frightened eyes staring at Amalie. She 
was on a projecting ledge of earth, about three 
feet above the water. 

Amalie ! — thank heaven ! Get me up ; I am 
almost mad ! I saw the steamboat go. And you 
are the only one not cruel enough to leave me.” 

‘‘ They did not know.” 

“ My hat fell, and I tried to get it. I had hung 


142 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


it on that willow tree. Oh, what can we do? I 
have been here since six o’clock. I forgot you all 
in my book. Oh, how I have prayed ? ” 

“ Pray still,” Amelie said. “ I will go down to 
you!” 

‘‘It will do no good. I have thought it all 
over, Amalie. We can do nothing now. I am 
frightened to death; but I can’t expect you to 
stay with me until we can get help at daylight. 
I have treated you so badly, that you’d be an 

angel if you took any trouble now ” 

“ Don’t, Alice ! — don’t ! ” said Amalie. “ Let’s 
forget. The night is damp. There’s Mrs. Holli- 
well’s shawl. You’ve got it ? Good ! ” 

“ What will you do ? It is cold, and I think I 
have sprained my ankle. What will you do ? ” 

“ I haven’t a thin pink dress on.” 

“ But you have a thin white one.” 

‘Amalie did not answer. What could she do? 
She must find a way out ! People might come, 
but what sort of people ? She stood like a white 
statue guarding the girl below her. 

Had not the children said that the German boy 
lived near the Point? The whistle! Why not 
try the whistle ? She blew with all her might. 


THE RESCUE. 


143 


Its sound seemed to cut the air. Only the echoes 
answered. Again she blew. This time there was 
a faint hello ! Her hands trembled with excite- 
ment; the whistle fell from them into tlie tangled 
grass on the bank. Slie tried to find it. The 
hello sounded again. She could not answer ; tlie 
whistle was lost. 

After all, it suddenly occurred to her, slie liad 
a voice. She began to sing ‘‘ Die Lorelei.” 

There was a crashing among the branches, and 
from the clump of oaks came the German boy. 

Fi aulein ! ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Amalie. “ Can you help us? ” 

I live near,” he said, going away. “It is well.” 

In five minutes he had returned with a ladder. 
He steadied it, Amelie held it, and Alice was 
lifted to the bank very gently. 

“ I will harness my horse ; it is over there. I 
live near our farm in the house with the ‘hands,’ 
but we will not waken them. You are Catholic : 
I know, because you gave me the medal. I will 
drive you over to the priest’s house, and j^ou will 
be safe.” 

Alice, saying prayers of thanksgiving, leaned 
against a tree. 


144 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ I have lost my whistle,” said Amelie. “ It 
was a lucky whistle.” 

“ Here it is,” the boy said ; his quick eye had 
espied it among the grass. “ The other was my 
sister’s. We were wrecked coming from Ger- 
many, and she was lost — my sister. I am so much 
alone in the land. I think of her so much that 
I love ‘Die Lorelei’ — her song. It is good that 
I can help you.” 

“And your name?” asked Amalie, half afraid 
of the answer. 

“Heinrich Von Otto.” 

“ Alice ! ” cried Amalie, “ I have found him ! It 
is Miss Von Otto’s brother ! Heinrich, your sister 
is not dead ; she is living ! She will be so happy ! ” 

For a moment Heinrich seemed frozen. 

“ So ? ” he said. “ So ? ” 

He darted into the woods. 

“ Thank heaven, we are safe ! Gh, Amelie ! do 
forgive me ! I see now how selfish I was ! ” 

“ And I how wicked I was, Alice.” 

“ Kiss me, Amalie. Let me be a good sister. 
Oh, how kind you have been ! ” 

Tears came to Amalie’s eyes. People would 
love her, after all ! She would have a home ! 


MERRY CHRISTMAS. 


145 


Heinrich’s light cart was heard approaching. 
The boy had thoughtfully brought his overcoat 
for Amalie. 

The drive to Father Egbert’s house was a long 
and silent one. Heinrich felt that it was no time 
to ask questions. He knew that his sister lived ; 
that was enough ! 

Father Egbert had not gone to bed yet. He 
was reading in his study. He gave the girls into 
the charge of his housekeeper, and drove off with 
Heinrich to find a telegraph station. That night 
two telegrams sped through the moonlight, — one 
to Mr. Watson ; the other with the glad news to 
Miss Von Otto. 


146 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XXIV. 

THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 

Alice’s adventure was told and retold in the 
family, until Amalie found herself a full-blown 
heroine. Mr. Watson kissed her, — tears standing 
in his eyes, — and Mrs. Watson burst into sobs and 
blessings several times during the day after the 
return of the girls. But it was not until Belinda 
appeared, bright-eyed, excited, that Amelie knew 
how heroic she had been. 

It was just before dinner, Amalie was in her 
room, happier than she had been since her father’s 
death. 

“ Oh, Amalie ! ” cried Belinda, kissing her on 
both cheeks and looking as if she were about to 
cry, “ I have heard it all ! How could j-ou do it? 
You must be as brave as a lion! Weren’t you 
afraid ? ” 

“ I was afraid that Alice was lost, — she was 
really the brave one. She was so thoughtful, too. 


THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 147 

She was afraid that I’d catch cold because I gave 
her the shawl.” 

“Well, that’s a new thing for Alice,” said Be- 
Ihida tartly. And then, changing her tone, she 
said, “ I always hated girls bigger than I am ; — 
they’re so set up, but you’re different ; you’re just 
as nice as if you were little. Oh, how dreadful 
you must Iiave felt I Willie Golden heard all 
about it from Bob, and Willie told Marie, and 
Marie told Wallace Roche, and Wallace told 
Grandmamma, who wouldn’t believe it all. She 
thought Wallace was exaggerating ; — I didn’t. 
It must have been horrible ! ” 

“Well, Belinda, I never prayed harder in 
my life, — never ! When the steamboat whistle 
stopped, and I knew that I was alone, I — I did 
pray ! ” 

“ Did you pray in English? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ I thought Catholics always prayed in Latin. 
I liave often thought that it would keep me from 
being a Catholic. Grandma could never get me 
through the first declension.” 

“We say the ‘ Our Father’ just as you do,” said 
Amalie. ‘‘ Of course Protestants think they 


148 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


translated it from the Latin into English ; but it 
was in English long before Protestants existed in 
England.” 

‘‘You don’t mean to say that Catholics had it 
first,” said Belinda. “ You surely don’t mean 
thaty 

“ You must read history,” said Amalie, laugh- 
ing. “ And the main thing is that we should say 
it often. Tell me, Belinda, about your club. 
You spoke of one for poor people the other 
day.” 

“ Are you really interested? I thought perhaps 
that your cousins had prejudiced you against it. 
It’s to help poor people. But, oh, Amalie, do tell 
me how you broke the big sword the man tried to 
cut you with ? ” 

“ What sword ? ” 

“ The sword the man had, — the man that came 
out of the wood and almost stabbed you. Wallace 
said that Alice fainted three times, and 

Amalie looked amazed. 

“ Belinda ” 

“ And that, if the German boy hadn’t rescued 
you with a pistol you’d been weltering in blood. 
Did he really cut a piece out of your shoulder ? ” 


THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 149 

“ There was not any man, Belinda. I do not 

know Wallace Roche ” 

‘‘ But Bob told everybody all about it, — there 
must have been a man.” 

‘‘ No,” said Amelie, seriously, ‘‘there wasn’t. 
It was all very simple, Alice read, and forgot all 
about time and the picnic. I missed her, and 
found her. Good, little Heinrich’s whistle came 
in there. That was the most wonderful part of 
the whole thing. After that no one can doubt 
that God watches over us ! How hard poor Miss 
Von Otto had prayed ! ” 

“But the mad dog, and your beautiful singing ! 
Surely, that, too, was wonderful ! ” said Belinda, 
with shining eyes. 

“ A mad dog, a big man with a sword, and sev- 
eral fainting fits ! — what next ? Surely, you’ve 
been reading romances, Belinda? ” 

“ No,” said Belinda, “ only listening to Wallace 
Roche. Why, you surely met the mad dog that 
was going to bite Alice, and made it stop by be- 
ginning to sing. Marie showed Wallace how the | 
dog barked. It went this way,” and Belinda gave 
an imitation that might have represented the howl 
of a hyena. 


150 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Belinda laughed until the tears came into her 
eyes. 

“ Oh, dear,” she said, “ Belinda, you will kill 
me ! I see now how stories go, — I shall always 
divide everything bad I hear about anybody, if I 
have to listen to it, by twenty-four. How did 
Wallace invent such a tissue of absurdities.” 

“ But you sang ! ” said Belinda, in a disap- 
pointed tone. 

‘^Yes, I remembered Heinrich and blew the 
whistle. Then I was afraid he might not recog- 
nize the sound, so, as the night was still, I sang 
the ‘ Lorelei ’ as loudly as I could. He says that 
brought him. You shall meet him ; he will be 
liere to-morrow ; he is going to see his sister, 
though his employer wants to keep him.” 

I’m glad you sang,” said Belinda. I’m glad 
you did something^ or there’d be no story at all ! ” 

“ Heinrich was found.” 

“ Oh, yes, that would have seemed wonderful, 
if Wallace hadn’t told grandmamma those more 
wonderful things. I’m so disappointed! But it 
is true that you cut the shawl into strips to pull 
Alice up ! How could you do it? Wallace said 
your liands were all red.” 


THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 151 

‘‘ I shall never believe what I hear after this,” 
said Amelie. “I did nothing of the kind. 
Heinrich brought a ladder, and Alice climbed up 
the bank in the usual way.” 

Belinda sighed. Bluette’s quite well,” she 
said. ‘‘ She’s wearing her pale pink teagown to- 
day. I thought you’d be in bed with plasters on 
you, so I brought you a present. Grandma said I 
might. She loves tea, — she’s English, you know. 
You may not like tea, but I hope you do, because 
this is tlie pi:ettiest thing I have to give you.” 

Belinda drew from behind her a pasteboard box 
which she had deposited against the back of the 
chair very carefully when she entered. 

Guess ? ” she said, as she slowly untied the 
red string with which the lid was tied. “ Guess ! ” 

“ Some flowers ? ” 

‘‘What kind of flowers?” said Belinda. 

“ Roses,” said Amelie promptly, as if she could 
not hear china or glass jingling in the box, as 
Belinda moved it about. 

“ What kind of roses? ” 

“ Tea roses,” guessed Amalie. 

“ Right ! ” said Belinda. 

“ It can’t be, — I just guessed at random.” 


152 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ It is,” said Belinda, with twinkling eyes. She 
slowly drew from the red cotton in the box two cups 
and saucers, as thin almost as paper and as white 
as snow, with a tea rose painted on each cup and 
two buds, with leaves, on each saucer. 

“ Oh, how lovely ! ” 

Grandma painted them when she was a 
girl,” said Belinda. “ And here is a teapot, I 
bought that. It’s pink, with white rosebuds ; — 
because I love pink and white.” 

“ And I like pink and white, too,” said Amfelie. 
“ How sweet and kind you and your grandmother 
are.” 

‘‘ Oh, I’m not always sweet, — though I must say 
grandma always means to be kind. She is going 
to send you a brass alcohol lamp and a kettle, 
so that you can have five-o’clock tea every 
day.” 

But isn’t that too near dinner time ? We dine 
at six.” 

“ That doesn’t seem to make much difference to 
grandma. She’s English, and we don’t have 
dinner till seven, and there are muffins and tea 
at five. Let us make some tea now and be 


THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 


153 


“ I shall ask my aunt ” 

‘'Can’t you have tea without asking your aunt? 
Laws ! I do what I please, and ask grandma alier- 
wards.” 

“ It would not be my plan.” 

“ Grandma doesn’t like it. But I’m an orphan, 
you know. An orphan has to be more inde- 
pendent than other children, because, if God ex- 
pected her to obey people. He wouldn’t take her 
parents to Heaven.” 

“ But God wants you to obey your grandmother.” 

“Amalie,” said Belinda, solemnly, “ if I minded 
grandmamma, I wouldn’t have half a good time.” 

Amalie looked serious. 

“We’ll talk about it some other day,” Belinda 
said. “ Since we’ll have to take such trouble 
about having a cup of tea, let’s wait until I bring 
the brass tray and the lamp, — then we’ll ask your 
aunt. Grandma likes our circle, — she approves of 
that. If she didn’t I could never go to market 
for my poor people.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“ I’ll begin with old Miss Favesham first. Ah, 
that’s Bob’s knock ! Now we’ll find out what he 
told Willie Goldoa,” 


154 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ Oh, Amelie, will you sew this button on my 
golf trousers?” he began. ‘‘I don’t like to 
ask Hello, Bel, you here?” 

Bob carried a pair of brown trousers in his hand. 
One button had fallen off, — the others seemed 
to be trembling to their fall. Amelie smiled and 
drew out her sewing basket. 

That’s what I like,” said Bob, planting him- 
self against the wall. That’s what I like, 
Lind ” 

‘‘I will not be called ‘Bel’ or ‘Lind,’ — my 
name is ‘ Belinda.’ Now what did you tell Willie 
Golden ? ” 

“ That’s what I like,” continued Bob, calmly, 
“that’s what I like, A, — long A, — it’s more dig- 
nified than ‘ Bel ’ or ‘ Lind,’ — so I’ll call you ‘ A.’ 
I like to have a girl sit down and begin to sew at 
once, without saying, ‘ You big elephant, what 
did you tear your buttons off for?’ or, ‘You’re 
so rough, you can’t keep a thing right for a minute ! ’ 
What did I say to the Golden kid? I told him 
tliat Amelie and Heinrich had saved Alice’s life 
with a ladder. His eyes bulged. ‘ Suppose a big 
man with a swoid had come out of the dark ? ’ I 
§aid that if he had he’d of killed ” 


THE MAN WITH THE SWORD. 155 

“ He’d have killed ” corrected Amelie. 

“ He’d have killed Amalie as soon as look at 
her. ‘ My ! My i ’ he said, — the Golden family 
always says, ‘ My ! My ! ’ — ‘ if our Marie sees any- 
thing at night, she thinks it’s a mad dog. Sup- 
pose there had been a mad dog?’ Then I said I 
supposed that Cousin Amalie would have fright- 
ened it away by singing ! ” 

Bob laughed. Belinda was indignant. 

‘‘ The mocker shall be mocked some day,” she 
said, with the air of one making a serious quota- 
tion. Yea, the mocker sliall be mocked.” 

Whenever Belinda wanted to convey the idea 
that she was quoting Scripture, she said, ‘‘ Yea ” 
at the beginning. 

Bob bent double ; Amalie laughed, too ; Belinda 
maintained a profound silence. 

So that’s the way Wallace’s story about the 
man with the sword and the mad dog began,” she 
said. “And I believed it. Well, even if it 
wasn’t so bad as T thought, you’re a blessed martyr 
anyhow, Amalie, and I’m sure you’d liave brought 
Alice out all right, if there were mad dogs and 
men with swords.” 

“ Thank you,” said Amalie. “ I’m glad there 


156 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


were only the river, Alice, Heinrich, and the 
ladder.” 

There’s the first bell for dinner,” Bob said. 
‘‘ I’ll have to change my clothes. I’ve my fishing 
suit on. Caught three fish in the Potomac 
to-day ” 

Whales? ” asked Belinda. 

The altercation that followed was stopped only 
when Mrs. Watson came to ask Belinda to stay to 
dinner. 

With a look at Amalie, Belinda said, — ‘‘ Yes, 
thank you ; but I’ll run over and ask grandma.” 


THE MARKET. 


157 


XXV. 

THE MARKET. 

The summer passed, and Amalie learned the 
story of Miss Favesham by observation, though 
Belinda had sketched it several times for her. In 
fact, she had been very busy. Miss Von Otto 
had come up to meet Heinrich, and to thank 
Amalie for having found him, and to make a 
novena of Thanksgiving. Heinrich was as ecstatic- 
ally happy as a boy of his temperament could be. 
He insisted that he should finish his winter’s wo]k 
with the farmer before entering school. The 
farmer, who had a large truck farm on the banks 
of the Potomac, did not want to part with him. 

‘‘ He is obedient ; he gives me no trouble ; he 
is not ashamed to soil his hands or to wear a 
blouse. He does not want to play all the time or 
go to the theater, like the American boy. He will, 
if he learns my business, enough education have. 
Ach, himmel ! let him stay.” 


158 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Miss Von Otto promised that Heinrich might 
return to him after a while if he wanted to ; for 
the present he must begin to learn Latin and 
English and mathematics. The farmer took a re- 
luctant farewell of Heinrich, presenting him with 
a five-dollar gold-piece. 

Heinrich’s story of his adventures in America 
was very simple. Cast into the Atlantic when 
the steamer went down, he had floated as well as 
he could until a sailor grasped him and drew him 
upon a raft. He found himself with ten others, 
boys and men. They were adrift for two nights 
and days. 

They were good to me, — for I sang and sang 
and sang. They were Germans, and they liked 
best ‘ The Little Red Rose.’ Once we missed a 
sail, or, at least, it missed us. But at noon a 
great steamer came out of the sky. When I 
reached New York, one of the sailors gave me 
money to come down heie to Mr. Kalbfleisch’s 
farm. Here have I been.” 

Heinrich was put into a preparatory school to be 
fitted for college, and Miss Von Otto departed to 
her work, promising to return at Christmas. 

Heinrich looked on himself as Amalie’s boy, 
11 


THE MARKET. 


169 


and her cares were not lightened by anxiety as to 
the purchase of his hats and coats, and as to 
whether he should have his hair cut in cool 
weather or not. He visited the Watsons once a 
month, and he stayed, as Bob’s guest, over Sun- 
day. Belinda and he did not get on well at first. 
He had begun to learn English from the boys at 
school, and when he was introduced to Belinda, 
he had said, with a pleasant smile on his rosy 
face, — 

‘‘ The day is firing bouquets mit himself, ain’t 
it, Fraulein? ” 

Belinda laughed. 

Why do you laugh ? Have I not the idiomatic 
English ? — What I say is it not an idiom ? Where- 
fore is it not already ? ” 

At tills Belinda laughed again, and Heinrich 
was too shy to speak. 

It was not until late in October that Amelie 
had time to think of anything outside of Heinrich 
and her studies. Alice and Clara had gone to 
Norfolk, where a friend of their mother’s lived. 
She had been a governess, and she was anxious to 
have a hand in their education. She was Alice’s 
godmother ; she had been left a legacy, and she 


160 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


hailed with pleasure the opportunity of guiding her 
old friend’s daughters for love of the work. 

One Saturday morning Belinda came for Ama- 
lie ; she wanted her to go to the market to help 
Miss Favesham. 

“If Mrs. Watson has nothing for me to do,” 
Amelia said, ‘‘I will certainly go. I often wish 
that Mrs. Watson would let me do her marketing 
for her. I think I could learn. And I have 
never been to this wonderful market of yours.” 

“It certainly is mighty interesting,” replied 
Belinda. “Hurry! Ask Mrs. Watson, and do 
get your hat. There’s been frost, — you can get 
some persimmons for Bob. And bring some 
money, — do I ” 

Amalie ran off. The morning was lovely, and 
her blood danced at the thought of a w^alk on such 
a day. 

Mrs. Watson said she had nothing for Amalie 
to do ; but there was one thing she might do, if 
she would. Mrs. Watson had made her usual visit 
to the market earlier ; she had forgotten that on 
the next Sunday the Forty Hours’ Devotion would 
begin at St. Joseph’s. Would Amalie buy some 
flowers for her ? Amalie was delighted, 


THE MARKET. 


161 


‘‘ I am ready,” she said to Belinda, and they 
started off through the Capitol grounds at a brisk 
pace. 

“ Grandmamma does not like me to walk along 
Pennsylvania Avenue alone,” Belinda said ; “ but 
with you she will not mind. The street isn’t so 
nice as it ought to be down by the Botanical 
Gardens. Have you ever been in the Gardens? 
You must go ! There is a sensitive plant there, — 
the most interesting thing ! You can give it a pin 
or a piece of straw and it closes up at once, with 
the piece in its grasp.” 

The part of the Avenue nearest the Capitol did 
not give Amelie an impression of beauty. It was 
untidy, and most of the men visible seemed to be 
lounging aimlessly about. A shop at one of the 
street corners delighted her; it was devoted to the 
sale of souvenirs of Washington, and they were 
very cheap. They made her think of Susan. How 
all Susan’s family would rejoice if that plate on 
which was imprinted a pink picture of the White 
House should find its way to them. And there 
was a little man holding a thimble, seated in a 
shell, with a sail above him on which “ Washing- 
ton ” was plainly written ! Amalie saw under her 


162 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


very eye, Christmas gifts for the group under 
Susan’s wing. 

The aspect of the Avenue improved as they 
went on. Belinda was entranced before Parker 
& Bridget’s window at Ninth Street. 

“ Oh, Amelie, look ! There’s a blue tea-gown in 
there on that lovely wax figure, — that would just 
suit Bluette. Do you think that I could make 
one like it? Bluette needs some new things.” 

“ I am afraid you couldn’t. That’s what the 
French people call a ‘ creation.’ When I was with 
Madame de Gu4rin and \\qv modiste came, it seemed 
funny to hear her talk of ‘ creations.’ It requires 
a lot of skill to make things in that way.” 

Belinda looked regretfully at the frock, which 
indeed seemed resplendent. 

“ I wish grandmamma would let me learn to 
make frocks, instead of keeping me at algebra and 
things like that. Do you think I could ever learn 
to make Bluette things in that way.” 

Amalie laughed. 

“ By the time you learned to make things 
like that you would not care for Bluette.” 

“ Bluette will never grow too old to play with 
me,” answered Belinda, laughing a little. “ I tell 


THE MARKET. 


163 


you when you haven’t a little sister or anybody 
little in your house, a doll does very well. And 
Bluette is not an ordinary doll. Her intelligence 
is unusual in a doll ; — though sometimes she is 
almost as stupid as a boy ; — I’ll save that up to 
say to Bob. Now let’s cross over to the Seventh 
Street entrance of the market. We’ve gone two 
squares out of the way.” 

They crossed the wide street and found them- 
selves in the fringe of Center Market. All was 
bustle and activity. Belinda, carrying a strong 
net bag, made her way through the crowd as one 
familiar with every inch of ground. She stopped 
a moment to look at some ferns and palms at the 
entrance, and began a conversation with the col- 
ored man who watched over them, about a certain 
Virginia creeper that would not grow. On re- 
ceiving a promise that another should be substi- 
tuted for it, they entered the building. Every- 
body seemed to be in good humor; a butcher, sur- 
rounded by fat and lean mutton and beef, smiled 
rosily at Belinda, and asked after her grand- 
mother. Amalie had never seen so many cheeses 
in her life. There was the crimson cheese, as round 
as a ball, and dozens of glittering silver-coated 


164 : 


THE AVATSON GIRLS. 


Swiss and cream cheeses, shaded by great bunches 
of asters. Belinda gave her order and passed on to 
a stall farther on, given up to all sorts of things 
made in Italy. There was spaghetti ; there was 
spaghetti ni ; there was vermicelli, and many 
strange sauces in tins and flasks which Amelie 
did not know the names of. 

At last they came to the aisle of the flower- 
stands. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” cried Amelie. “ Oh, it’s like passing 
through a lane of pink and white and red! 

The cosmos flower bloomed in great bunches 
in the stands, and near it were vivid red, almost 
scarlet, dahlias. On the edge of the nearest 
stand were half-a-dozen bunches of perfumed vio- 
lets, — pale blue and double. Brushing against 
Amelie's face^ — she had to move aside to make 
way for two large baskets, — were long-stemmed 
American Beauty roses. Below them shone deep 
pink carnations in a glass bowl, and beyond tow- 
ered palms above pots of nestling ferns. 

‘‘ And that great bunch of Bridesmaid roses on 
the next stand I ” exclaimed Amelie. “ And the 
white cosmos I And the purplish cosmos ! And 
the pink cosmos I And the lilac-colored cosmos ! 


THE MARKET. 


165 


“ And the lemon-colored dahlias ! And the 
white dahlias ! And the crimsoji dahlias ! ” 
echoed Belinda, laughing, and pipud of the im- 
pression the market had made on Amalie. 

‘‘Come. We can see these flowers again. 
Let’s And Miss Favesham,” Belinda said. “Here’s 
ten cents. Take it. I’ll tell you what to do with 
it in a moment.” 

Amalie, her eyes still on those lovely cosmos 
flowers, took the money. 


166 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


XXVI. 

MISS FAVESHAM. 

Belinda walked rapidly to the B. Street side cf 
the market. Amelie found herself in a new 
world. The sidewalk was lined with colored 
persons, each with something to sell, — and this 
something was invariably fresh from the coun- 
try. Araelie’s heart warmed to all these dark 
faces, — she had been brought up among such 
faces, — they were as children to her, young as 
she Avas, — and they reminded her of Susan. 
Against the Avails of the market stood the little 
stalls ; on the kerb Avere others of the same kind, 
against a background of dilapidated Avagons. 
The faces of the Avomen and young girls Avatch- 
ing their meager collections of field and garden 

herbs and vegetables would have been pathetic, 

> 

if they Avere not so good-humored. Men Avere 
busy about the Avagons, but the sellers Avere, as a 
rule, Avomen. 

There Avas a shriA^eled old Avoman, wrapped in 


MISS FAVESHAM. 


167 


a heavy shawl, with a little table in front of her, 
covered with specimens of gray moss, clumps of 
red berries and huge bunches of herbs. There 
was also a handful of persimmons in a tin can. 
These Belinda purchased at once for five cents. 
The old woman offered some sassafras bark and 
some dried wild cherries which seemed to have 
turned to stone. 

“ Are these wild asters ? ” asked Amelie. 

“ Oh, bless you, no, — no, chile. That’s fever- 
few, — good, boiled, for fevers.” 

Amelie looked at the faded bunch of little 
flowers and remembered that she had read some- 
where that, during the Great Plague in London, 
the suburbs of the city, in which this herb grew, 
were free from the disease. 

“ And it is really good for fever ? ” 

Bless you, chile, yes ? White folks’ fever, as 
well as cullid folks’ fever. You jest bile it.” 

Amelie bought a bunch for the usual price, — 
a nickle.” 

“Do 3"ou expect to have a fever?” asked 
Belinda. 

“ No,” said AmMie, smiling, “ but I bought the 
feverfew for Bluette. She might be ill.” 


168 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Belinda laughed so merrily that several dark 
faces about her showed rows of white teeth in 
sympathy. 

“ Mushrooms — to-day, Aunt Eliza ? ” asked a 
bustling woman, who carried a net bag, like 
Belinda’s. 

“ Too late, ma’am.” 

Your nephew didn’t send you any fresh figs 
this year from Virginia?” 

“ No, ma’am ; — the winter was too cold, — 
killed ’em.” 

“ I’m very sorry. Aunt Eliza ; — but have 3"ou 
you any of those little yellow egg-shaped 
tomatoes ? ” 

“Land knows I’m sorry I haven’t, but Miss 
Gloriana Dangerfield, — she what you sees at the 
end, with red peppers among the parsley, hab a 
lot. I’ve got a turkey fattening on chestnuts for 
Thanksgiving ; — only one. Shall I keep him for 
3"ou, Mis’ Moseleigh.” 

“ Of course. I’ll take this bunch of cosmos. 
Five cents ? Thank 3^011 ! ” 

Amelie became aware that she had been very 
rude. She had lost herself in this conversation 
and had listened in the boldest manner with her 


MISS FAVESHAM. 


169 


eyes fixed on the portly and amiable Mrs. Mose- 
leigh, who now, about to move away, noticed 
Amelie. Their eyes met ; Amelie blushed, Mrs. 
Moseleigh smiled. 

You are interested in these colored people?” 

‘^Yes,” said Amelie, ^^they appear to be so 
poor, but so good-natured.” 

They are poor and very good-natured,” Mrs. 
Moseleigh answered. “ I prefer to buy from 
them when I can, — a very little goes a great way 
with them. As long as they can live on their 
little patches of ground in the country, they will 
not come to the city. The city is a bad place for 
these poor colored folk.” 

‘‘ It’s a charity to keep them in this way, 
then,” said Amelie. 

Certainly. It is a good thing to help any- 
body who tries to earn an honest living. Be- 
sides, Avhere can you get tea-berries at this sea- 
son, except from these folk ? Yes, two bunches. 
Uncle Eeggie,” she continued, turning to a griz- 
zle-haired old negro, who approached with his 
hands full of small bunches of the crimson tea-ber- 
ries. “ Ten cents, — thank you. Uncle Eeggie.” 

‘‘ Perhaps,” said Belinda, timidly, you 


170 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


wouldn’t mind buying something from Miss 
Favesham.” 

Certainly not, — if she has something I need,” 
returned Mrs. Moseleigh, smiling. 

“ I’m afraid Miss Favesham may not have what 
you need, but, all the same, you’d be doing a great 
kindness.” 

Where is she ? Is she a colored person ? ” 
asked Mrs. Moseleigh, looking about her. 

‘‘ Oh, no, — she’s a poor white lady, she makes 
paper flowers. And Lily, her old cook, lets her 
stand near her. You see, she can’t make the flow- 
ers very well, and the stores will not buy them. 
Besides, I think they’re rather gone out of fash- 
ion. Her chrysanthemums are lovely^ I think, — 
and only five cents apiece. You’d have to pay 
twenty in the stores.” 

A thin, tall figure stood near a stand built by 
placing an ironing board on two barrels. Erect, 
graceful, dressed in worn black. Miss Favesham 
looked like a lady, and a very poor one. Her 
pale face was framed by rolls of white hair, which 
contrasted with her neat black bonnet. She held 
in both hands bouquets of red, white and yellow 
chrysthemums, made of tissue papers. The flow- 


MISS FAVESHAM. 


171 

ers looked real enough, but their leaves and stems 
were painfully unreal. A flat basket, containing 
pink, red and yellow roses, lay on the stand 
among the pot herbs, sassafras, sage, dried sweet 
marjoram and tea-berries. 

Dear ! dear ! ” said Mrs. Moseleigh, she 
certainly does look like a lady. What’s your 
name, little girl ? — you’ve a kind heart.” 

Belinda, blushing, gave her name, with her 
address. 

I’ll go to see you to find out more about Miss 
Favesham. I’m not devoted to paper flowers, 
but, my dear, that bunch of white and yellow 
chrysanthemums shall be on my dinner table to- 
night.” 

“ Keally,” said Amelie, as she watched Mrs. 
Moseleigh possess herself in a very courteous 
manner of Miss Favesham’s flowers, there are 
so many good people in the world.” 

Now, you go ! ” said Belinda. 

Amelie stepped forward and bought three 
white chrysanthemums and two pink roses. It 
was now Belinda’s turn. 

Miss Favesham’s slender hands trembled. Her 
gloves were very old, but neatly darned. 


172 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ Oh, Belinda, — you dear ! ” she said. “ I’ve 
had such a good day, — nearly everything sold ! 
I have only three chrysanthemums and these five 
roses.” 

“ I must have the roses,” said Belinda, “ I really 
must.” 

Five cents to you, dear,” said Miss Favesham, 
her cheeks flushing with pleasure, ‘‘I’d charge 
fifteen to everybody else.” 

“ Then I must have the three chrysanthemums, 
— that, with the roses, will make twenty cents.” 

“ Oh, no, I couldn’t charge you ” 

“ They’re for friends, not for myself,” said Be- 
linda. “ Here’s the money.” 

“ A nice-looking girl just bought some chrys- 
anthemums ” 

“ Amelie, yes, — shall I call her ? There ske 
is ! ” 

“ Ho, — some day, when I have a better place, 
you shall bring her to see me. But don’t intro- 
duce her here. I never mix business with social 
affairs.” 

“ Good-by, Miss Favesham.’^ 

“ Here I am again ! ” It was Mrs. Moseleigh 
who spoke, smilingly, “I am so pleased with 


MISS FAVESHAM. 173 

my flowers, I have turned back to get some 
more.” 

The pleasure depicted on the faces of Belinda, 
Miss Favesham and reflected on that of Lily, — 
who was the blackest of her race, — delighted Mrs. 
Moseleigh. 

They’re all sold ! ” cried Belinda. 

All ! ” echoed Lily, who stopped in the act of 
emptying a pint of persimmons into the basket 
of a boy. 

“Yes,” said Miss Favesham, modestly. “My 
works have been much appreciated to-day. I 
shall have pink carnations, imitated after the 
Malmaison variety next Saturday.” 

“ Keep a dozen for me, please,” said Mrs. Mose- 
leigh, graciously. “ By the way, my dear,” she 
continued to Amelie, betraying the reason why 
she had turned back, “ what is your name ? ” 

“Amelie Watson.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said Mrs. Moseleigh, in a disap- 
pointed tone. “ I thought you were one of the 
Grays.” 

“ My mother was a Gray.” 

“ Ah, I know now ! How like you are to 
her ! — she was my bridesmaid I ” 


174 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ How small the world is ! ” sighed Miss Fave- 
sham. Now that her flowers were sold, she en- 
tered social life again. ‘‘ You may introduce 
your friends to me, Belinda.” 


A CONVERSATION, 


175 


XXVII. 

A CONVERSATION. 

Miss Favesham walked with Mrs. Moseleigh 
and the two girls to the corner, then said good-by 
and waited until they had crossed the avenue. 
When Belinda looked back she had disappeared. 

Where does she live ? ” Mrs. Moseleigh asked* 
‘‘ I don’t know,” Belinda said. “ She speaks of 
having only a poor little room.” 

Dear me ! She is proud as well as poor ; — 
I must catch my car, — here it comes ! — Con- 
necticut Avenue ! I shall see you both again.” 

‘‘ It's been quite exciting, hasn’t it?” asked Be- 
linda. Just think of 3"our mother having been 
Mrs. Moseleigh ’s bridesmaid. Everybody in the 
South seems to have been everybody else’s 
bridesmaid some time or other, though,” Belinda 
added. “You ought to hear grandma talk! 
Everybody in Virginia is her cousin! ” 

Amelie laughed. 

“ Shall we walk % ” 


176 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“We have forgotten the flowers you spoke of, 

■ — for your church.” 

“Oh, 3^es, — for the Forty Hours’ Devotion. 
AVill you come back ? ” 

Belinda assented. The girls Avent back to the 
market, and reveled again in the great masses of 
dahlias, cosmos flowers, and chrysanthemums on 
the stands. 

Amelie found that she could afford, by gndng 
up her allowance of candy for a month, a palm, 
as well as the great bunch of the cosmos she had 
set her heart on. The florist agreed to send them 
to the church, and the girls started homeAvard. 

“How tell me about Miss Favesham,” Amelie 
said, after she had balanced a little pot of maiden- 
hair, for her aunt, Avell in one hand. 

“ Well, you know,” Belinda began, eagerly, “ it 
Avas through the circle. A feAv of us on Capitol 
Hill thought Ave’d help people. So Ave had a 
bazar , in our house,, and we made eight dollars. 
It happened that a feAv days after that I Avas 
wheeling grandma through the Capitol grounds, 
and I saAV a little woman in black almost lying 
on one of the seats. She Avas A^ery Avhite and 
thin, — thinner and Avhiter than you saw her to- 


A CONVERSATION. 


177 


day, — and grandma just looked at her. ^ Belinda, 
my dear,’ she said, ‘ Avheel my chair up near that 
poor lady, — she’s starving. I know the look. Kun 
across to the Clover Dairy for a little milk, and 
get some biscuits at Craycroft’s. Hurry back ! 
Go, my dear, don’t be afraid to leave me ! ’ ” 

“ Dear ! dear ! ” said Amelie, much interested, 
and was she really starving ? ” 

You just wait ! — grandma looked so impera- 
tive out of her brown eyes, that I just ran. The 
Clover people lent me a little can, and Mr. Cray- 
croft gave me the biscuits, and it didn’t take me 
long to get back. Grandma is so rheumatic that 
she couldn’t get out of her chair, but she managed 
to hold the poor lady’s hand, — and — it was 
Miss Favesham — was almost fainting. I gave her 
a small sip of milk, — such a small sip — and some 
more, and then a tiny piece of biscuit. Grandma 
asked a policeman to lift her on to the bench. 
And there she stayed until I wheeled Miss Fave- 
sham to our house. Wasn’t it brave of dear old 
grandma, who has been in her room for so many 
years ? But the policeman was very kind, and a 
robin came and perched on the back of the 

bench ! ” 

12 


178 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


I hope that your grandmamma did not take 
cold or anything ” 

“ Oh, no ! It was a lovely day. Well, Miss 
Favesham lay on the sofa in the drawing-room 
and we made her eat and drink some more. ‘ It 
was the heat,’ she said. It seemed that she had 
expected to get a place in the Library, but she 
couldn’t. We couldn’t ask her many questions, — 
but she told us that she had been very well off, 
and that her people, — the Faveshams of Bracken 
Hall, in Yirginia, — had lost everything. She 
Avouldn’t let us send for a carriage, though grand- 
mamma insisted, — but went off to the car alone. 
I know that she had only one car ticket, for it fell 
out of her glove, and I picked it up.” 

• And she was all alone in the world,” said 
Amelie, with a shudder. 

She is all alone in the world,” answered Be- 
linda. 

‘‘ God pity her ! ” said Amelie. 

“ While she was talking to grandma, she said, 
^ I can’t do a single thing, — for when I was young 
girls were not expected to do anything, except 
learn a little music and French. Even my em- 
broidery is old-fashioned. I can make paper 


A CONVERSATION. 


179 


flowers ! V ‘ Very well,’ grandma said, ‘I’ll buy 
some paper flowers, — I’m very fond of them, but 
since my fingers have become rheumatic, I can’t 
make them.’ ‘ We had an old family servant, Lily,’ 
Miss Favesham said, ‘perhaps she’d sell them for 
me in the market.’ 

“ I suppose Miss Favesham thought it would be 
proud not to sell them herself, — so she began. 
Few persons bought them, and one Saturday I 
saw her crying, and poor Lily, bending over her 
sassafras and tea- berries, was crying, too, so I just 
had the circle adopt one of Miss Favesham’s red 
roses as a badge. That sold some. Then, for the 
Fourth of July, your uncle got some club to order 
three hundred red, white and blue flowers. Oh, 
that was such a help ! Miss Favesham bought a 
new gown, — hers was falling to pieces. But now 
I just have to watch and mcCT^^e people buy flow- 
ers on Saturday. About Christmas time the 
priest at your church will buy a great many for 
the tree for the Sunday-school children, and 
grandma’s minister will take some, too, — and our 
circle will have to have favors for the Christmas 
dance.” 

“ I wonder if I can help ? ” asked Amelie. 


180 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


‘‘ All alone in the world ! And so gentle ! And 
so poor ! And so unable to help herself ! Oh, 

I Belinda, it’s awful ! ” 

* Yes, I know,” said Belinda, but if she had 
I been a little girl like me when she was young, 
she’d know how to help herself. Why, I have 
learned to do lots of things. I can make bread 
and cakes.” 

But you couldn’t sell bread and cakes.” 

Why ? ” 

Oh, because ” 

My bread and cakes are good enough to sell,” 
returned Belinda, with an air of offended dignity. 

I’ll make you a meringue cake some time, if 
you don’t believe me ! ” 

didn’t mean that. I only meant that a 
young lady couldn’t sell bread and cakes.” 

Belinda laughed. 

You amuse m^.” 

Amelie flushed a little. The tone of superiority 
in the little girl’s voice was very evident. She 
was silent. Belinda laughed again. 

“ Why couldn’t I sell bread and cakes if people 
wanted to buy them, and I had to earn my 
living ? ” 


A CONVERSATION. 


181 


‘‘ I don’t think your grandma would like it.” 

“ If they were good cakes grandma would say, 
‘I wouldn’t sell them, it might look bold.’ Then 
I would say, ‘ But, grandma, we must pay the 
rent.’ ‘Well, my dear,’ she would say, ‘if you 
are sure they are well made, with plenty of 
good butter, sell as many as you can.’ Oh, 
grandma is not aristocratic in that way. She 
wouldn’t mind honest work ; she hates meanness, 
— that’s all. When I grow up I am going to be 
able to earn my living, and grandma’s, too.” 

“ That’s right,” said Amelie, “ but I hope you 
will be luckier than Miss Favesham.” 

“ I intend to be,” answered Belinda, pursing 
her lips in a determined way. “Sometimes I 
think I’ll turn Catholic, when grandma dies, and 
be a Sister. Sisters suit me ; they’re ladies, but 
they’re not afraid to do anything. The* Watsons 

make me tired ” 

“ That’s slang, Belinda, — besides ” 

“ I mean that their ways fatigue me, — I must 
try not to use slang, since you don’t like it ; — but, 
though they are your cousins, I can’t stand their 
talk about work. It’s not proper to do tins ; it’s 
not proper to do that Now don’t be angry. 


182 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


I’m not, Belinda, — but you mustn’t find fault 
with my cousins.” 

“ 1 tell you that if they were left alone, they’d 
starve rather than scrub, I do believe. Now, you 
ought to see me scrub. What would you do if 
you were poor ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know,” said Amelie, helplessly. 

“ Come ; — we have time to run over to the 
Botanical Garden and see the mimosa! ” 

When the mimosa had gripped a pin and a tooth- 
pick, the girls went liomeward, feeling that they 
had spent a profitable morning. 


MR. WATSON. 


183 


XXVIII. 

MR. WATSON. 

Alice and Clara were to be home at Thanks- 
giving. In the meantime Mr. Watson and Alice 
and Bob became very good friends. Bob had 
been rather afraid of his father, who was some- 
what stern in his manner towards the boy. And 
this was due to the fact that Clara was constantly 
complaining of Bob’s manners. Arthur, the boy 
at West Point, had been the favorite of his sis- 
ters, and, without the slightest desire to do Bob 
injustice, the girls, by their constant criticisms, 
had led their father to believe that he was bois- 
terous, rude and rather silly. 

“ I wish, Amelie, that you Avould take your 
uncle for a walk,” Mrs. Watson said, when Ame- 
lie had arrived, after her discovery of Miss Fave- 
sham. ‘‘Not to-day but to-morrow. You can 
take him. for a brisk trot after Mass. He enjoys 
talking about music; he is not looking well; he 
misses the girls — I do wish you’d do it.” 


184 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


The service will be longer than usual,’’ Ame- 
liesaid. ‘‘The Forty Hours will begin.” 

“ That will make it very late, — we dine at half- 
past one o’clock on Sundays.” 

“ Yes,” Amelie said. And then, brightening, — 
“ Why, aunt, you can give us some luncheon in 
a box, — sufficient for uncle. Bob and me. We’ll 
take uncle to Mass, stop for the luncheon, and 
spend the afternoon at Kock Creek we’ll take 
Mrs. Dana’s ‘Howto Know the Wild Flowers,’ 
and Bob will enjoy making a little collection.” 

Mrs. Watson looked doubtful. 

“Your uncle never goes to Mass. We never 
speak about religion.” 

“But there will be no harm in my asking 
him.” 

“Ho,” said Mrs. Watson, still doubtfully, “ but 
don’t let him think you consulted me. I hope 
Bob will not annoy his father.” 

At dinner, Mr. Watson listened with interest 
to Amalie’s account of Miss Favesham, and, after 
a time, said, — it was suggested by the mention of 
the flowers in the market, — that he wished his 
children had more interest in trees and flowers. 

“ Why, uncle, Bob takes the greatest interest,” 


MR. WATSON. 


185 


Amelie said, seeing her chance. “He and I have 
been studying the wild flowers with Mrs. Dana’s 
book, every Sunday for nearly two months. 
You’d be surprised, if you’d examine Bob.” 

“ Bob ? ” asked Mr.- Watson. “ Bob ! I didn’t 
think Bob was interested in anything except 
baseball and mischief.” 

Bob blushed and looked sulky. 

“Uncle, let us go to Rock Creek on Sunday, — 
then we’ll show how much we know.” 

“ Agreed ! ” said Mr. Watson. 

“ They are going to sing a Mass by Millard, with 
an ‘ Ave Maria ’ by Brahms, at our church ; we’ll 
all go, and aunt will put up some luncheon ” 

“ I must go to early Mass,” said Mrs. Watson^ 
“ and after that, I have many things to do, — 
shoals of letters to write, among other things.” 

“ I wish you could go.” 

“ But I can’t, Amelie.” 

“ An ‘ Ave Maria ’ by Brahms ? ” inquired Mr. 
Watson, curiously. “ For soprano ? ” 

“Yes,” said Amelie. 

“ I should like to hear it.” 

“Come to Mass with us, uncle,” Amelie said, 

while her aunt cast an uneasy glance at Mr. Wat- 


186 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


son. All the accompaniments are very well 
played.’’ 

‘‘Very well; — but,” added her uncle, “shall 
we not be late for our botanical expedition? ” 

“ Not at all,” Amelie answered. “We’ll have 
the loveliest day ! ” 

After dinner Mr. Watson buried himself in his 
paper, and Mrs. Watson tried to act as if nothing 
unusual had happened. 

As Amelie was going to her room, her aunt 
stopped her in the hall. 

“ Oh, my dear,” she said, with tears in her eyes, 
“ how did you manage it ? To think of his going 
to Mass ! Why, he has never entered a church 
since his brother became a convert.” 

“ I am glad you are pleased,” Amelie said. 
“ Oh, so glad ! But I haven’t done anything. I 
just told him about the music, — that is all.” 

“ Well, well, child, — something may come of 
it, and I should be so happy.” 

And so this Saturday, so eventful to Amelie, 
closed. 

Sunday came. To Bob’s great pleasure the day 
was delightfully sunshiny; it was the typical 
October day in Washington. Mrs. Watson came 


MR. WATSON. 


187 


home from early Mass, smiling and happy. It 
was pleasant to think that her husband was going 
to church, — she had long hoped for this, and this 
morning she had prayed with all Iier heart that 
he might be drawn, by this act, nearer to God. 

Bob strapped “ How to Know the Wild Flow- 
ers ” to tlie luncheon box, — which Mrs. Watson 
had filled,— and, as the church bell began to ring, 
Mr. Watson came down-stairs in his best frock 
coat. 

‘‘You don’t often see papa in a tall hat and 
frock coat,” Bob said, gazing at him in admira- 
tion. 

“ You don’t often see papa going to church,” 
said Mr. Watson, laughing. “ When we come 
home, I think I’ll change my clothes for some 
more suitable for a botanical walk.” 

Mr. Watson was struck by the beauty of the 
altar decorations, as he followed Amalie and Bob 
up the middle aisle. Tiers upon tiers of candles 
arose from great bowers of pink and white cosmos 
flowers on the high altar, and the side altars ac- 
tually glowed with great masses of I’ed dahlias. 
He imitated Bob’s genuflection as well as he 
could and then knelt and tried to recall the “ Our 


188 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Father.” He had not prayed for a long time, but 
the old prayer came back to him. When he 
seated himself, he glanced at Bob, who was still 
kneeling. The golden light from one of the stained- 
glass windows fell on Bob’s face and seemed to ac- 
centuate his look of deep devotion. Mr. Watson 
almost started. Could this be the face of his care- 
less, thoughtless, merry son ? Was it possible that 
the atmosphere of the church could so change the 
boy ? A new respect for the child mingled sud- 
denly with the father’s love for him. • The organ 
pealed out, — it was well played, and Mr. Watson 
settled back in his pew, content for tlie moment. 

The solemn High Mass seemed to him a thing 
of great beauty. He followed the service closely 
by means of the prayer book Amalie had given 
him. The sunlight mingled with the glow of the 
candles, the scent of the incense, the movements 
of the priests, — light, color, sweetness, all weaving 
and interweaving with the words of the music. 

‘^It’s a living prayer,” he said to himself. 

And when the soprano began to sing Brahms’ 
rich music, Mr. Watson wondered why lie had let 
his prejudices keep him from this temple of beauty 
so long. 


MR. WATSON. 


189 


At the Elevation he fell upon his knees. He 
would have done this at any time from politeness, 
but to-day he felt a strange peace fall upon him, as 
he bent his head. And, when the Mass was over, 
tears came into his eyes ; — half-in voluntarily, he 
stretched out his hand to Bob, and Bob clasped it- 

‘‘I must get nearer to my son,” he thought. 
“ I must learn to love God as he loves him.” 

Then came the procession of the Blessed Sacra- 
ment for the opening of the Devotion of the Forty 
Hours. The very little girls with pink and white 
sashes and baskets of rose-leaves, and the very 
little boys, innocent, open-eyed, demure for the 
moment, with nosegays of all sorts of flowers, the 
larger boys, with their red sashes, and the long 
procession of white-gowned girls of all ages pre- 
ceding the priest, clothed in golden vestments 
and bearing the most precious burden, moved 
slowly through the aisles to the solemn singing of 
the “ Pange lingua gloriosi.” 

The end came at last ; — a march burst from the 
organ gallery, and Bob, with his arm in his 
father’s, went down the aisle. The father and son 
had forgotten Amelie, but she was not unhappy. 
She felt that, somehow or other, a change had taken 


190 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


place in her uncle, and she murmured a prayer of 
thanksgiving as she went out. 

Mr. Watson was in unusually good spirits ; he 
turned to Amelie, as she descended the steps. 

“ I’m obliged to you,” he said, ‘‘for some happy 
hours. I’ll have something new to tell Alice and 
Clara when I write to-morrow.” 

Amelie laughed ; a woman near her started at 
the sound. 

“ It’s Miss Amalie ! ” 

“Just say ‘ Amelie,’ Miss Favesham,” Amelie 
said, recognizing Belinda’s friend. “Uncle, let 
me introduce you to Miss Favesham.” 

Mr. Watson made his best bow. Poor Miss 
Favesham looked very wan and tired, and, among 
the well-dressed people, her black frock and bon- 
net seemed unusually shabby. 

“Uncle,” Amelie said, “don’t you think my 
aunt would like to know Miss Favesham ? ” 

“Miss Favesham,” Mr. Watson said, smiling, 
“ my wife is obliged to lunch alone to-day, and, if 
you will be kind enough to keep her company, it 
will be doing us a great favor. We ought to be 
informally kind on Sunday, — and you’ll be very 
kind, if you’ll waive ceremony.” 


MR. WATSON. 


191 


‘‘Oh, do, Miss Favesham!” pleaded Amalie, 
“and you’ll see how charmingly I’ve arranged 
your chrysanthemums in a vase.” 

Miss Favesham had hesitated ; this speech de- 
cided her. 

“ Thank you,” she answered. “ I live some dis- 
tance from this church; but I always come here 
because I like the beautiful Catholic service. 
But don’t you think I’ll inconvenience your aunt.” 

Amelie reassured her, and Miss Favesham 
walked liome with the group. Mr. Watson talk- 
ing tlie while about tlie “ classicism ” of Brahms 
in a wa}^ that puzzled Miss Favesham, who preferred 
“ Maryland, My Maryland,” to any other melody. 

“ You’re a dear one,” Bob whispered admir- 
ingly to Amelie. “ You saw that the poor old lady 
needs a square meal. You can’t fool your Uncle 
Dudley, — I know you ! ” 

Mrs. Watson understood the situation, and no 
princess could have been welcomed more warmly 
than the broken old woman, whose memories of 
the past made her present darker. 

When the three returned from a happy ramble 
by Rock Creek, their hands full of late wild flow- 
ers, Miss Favesham was still with Mrs. Watson, 


192 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


“ I am going to give her the little room at the 
top of the house, — the sunny tower room, my 
dear,” she said to her husband. “How poor she 
is, and how humbly she bears her burden.” 

“You are very good,” her husband said. “I 
approve. It seems to me that this has been such 
a happy day, that I ought to help to make every- 
body happy.” 


NOEL. 


193 


XXIX. 

NOEL. 

The days of autumn sped. Thanksgiving 
and Christmas was near. Alice and Clara weie 
again at home. On Christmas eve the three girls 
sat in the drawing-room, very contentedly work- 
ing and talking ; the peaceful spirit of the season 
was upon tliem. 

‘‘Well,” said Amelie, as slie looked at the 
snow-covered Capitol grounds, and then resumed 
her work of painting a sprig of holly on Bob’s 
dinner card, — for it was Christmas eve, “Well, 
I have been very happy since that night in 
August.” 

Alice laughed. She was coloring the hearts of 
the water-lilies on a card, for Heinrich and his sister 
were coming to the Christmas dinner. 

“I never thought we could like each other. 
What shall I put on Miss von Otto’s card ?” 

‘‘A pansy — for thought, you know; — how long 
she thought about that poor boy ! ” 

13 


194 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


Your Susan is so pleased with everything 
here — she is to stay a whole week Avith the cook, 
A^ou know.” 

Dear old Susan ! ” 

I luiA^e put a Avild rose Avith a thorn, on 
Belinda’s card. She’ll appreciate that ! ” 

Ainelie laughed. 

God has made us all very happy,” she said. 

See, I’ve painted a Avhite cloud Avith the kindly 
star showing thiiough for your father. Ever since 
Amelie took him to Mass, he seems happier. 
This is the season of the star.” 

If Ave can set a good example to him, I am sure 
papa Avill one day be a Catholic. It’s easier to be 
good at Christmas than any other time ! ” said 
Alice Avith a sigh. ‘*1 suppose that if I’d been 
as much Avith Sisters as you have, I Avouldn’t be 
so Avorldly.” 

‘‘ I hope you don’t think I owe my temper to 
the Sisters ! ” said Amalie laughing. Oh, Alice, 
Ave must hang the two Avhistles on the Christmas 
tree ; — I kneAV I had seen one like that Avhich 
Heinrich gave me. It Avas Miss \on Otto’s, of 
course. Father Egbert — Avasn’t he kind to us on 
that awful night? — Avill come in after dinner. He 


NOEL. 


195 


will be too busy to come earlier. Everybody lias 
a book for him, even Belinda.” 

Do you really forgive me ? ” asked Alice. 

Do you really forgive me ? I ” 

Amele rose and put lier hand across her cousin’s 
mouth. 

If you will only love me a little you can find 
fault with me as much as you like ! Oli, Alice, 
I always wanted a sister, and now I have two ’ ” 
From Amelie’s room came the notes of ‘‘ Die 
Lorlei,” sung by Belinda. Then suddenly Clara 
dashed into the accompaniment of Adeste 
Fideles ” and the voices of Heinrich, Bob, Belinda 
and Clara joined jubilantly in the cljorus, — 
Venite Adoremus ! ” 

Here all sounded Miss Faveshain’s high treble, 
quavering and uncertain. 

“ Amalie,” said Clara, we must give this card 
with the yellow chrysanthemum on it to dear Miss 
Favesham. It is the prettiest one of all.” 

I intended to send it to ” began Alice. 

‘‘No ! no! ” said Clara. "‘It is too lovely for 
anybody except the poorest person we know I ” 
The three girls were silent. 

“ You are right,” — Alice spoke, after having 


196 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 


cast a regretful look at her pet card. ‘‘ T in- 
tended it for our rich Norfolk friend; — but at 
Christinas the little ones and the poor should liave 
all the prettiest things ! ” 

“ Adeste Fideles ! ” — Christmas Eve had come 
at last. 


THE END. 


IN PREPARATION 


THE BELINDA BOOKS. 

By MAURICB F. EGAN. 


THE WATSON GIRLS. 

BELINDA. 

THE WATSONS IN THE COUNTRY. 
BELINDA’S COUSINS. 

ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER. 

AMELIE IN FRANCE. 






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